


And the Sky (is fallin' down)

by SpinnerDolphin



Series: Angel Network [9]
Category: Lucifer (TV), Supernatural
Genre: By a lot of things, Cas is a terrible nestmom, Chloe is skeptical, F/M, Jack is a fluffy eyas, Lucifer is horrified, M/M, Minor Character Death, Nightmare World, So is Sam
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-17 06:35:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 48,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28844673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpinnerDolphin/pseuds/SpinnerDolphin
Summary: And so the search for a solution to the Dad-killing-worlds problem begins. Lucifer hates Nightmare World so much.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar, Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV) & Sam Winchester
Series: Angel Network [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1364311
Comments: 1521
Kudos: 614





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> HELLO EVERYONE AND WELCOME BACK! This fic is rated M for Lucifer's Mind - don't get your hopes up too high; I don't write smut, I just write alll the feelings. But we do frankly discuss orgasms, because Lucifer. Be warned :D 
> 
> ALSO IF YOU ARE AN SPN FAN: warning for minor character death!! Like. SO MUCH minor character death!! BRACE YOURSELVES. 
> 
> If you're not an SPN fan, you will be sad, but I will not break your heart as much. 
> 
> THIS ONE DOES NOT HAVE A HAPPY ENDING. All our main babies live and are (physically) fine. But the ending is a cliffhanger. The next (and last) story is finished, so I won't leave you hanging too long. The next one DOES have a happy ending, though it comes with a bunch of warnings, too, because demons. But that's for later :D 
> 
> Anyway. ON WITH THE STORY!! :D

Dean Winchester and Castiel Quintaferia[1] had not been kidding when they said they lived in a bunker. The place was warded to the teeth, too, which wasn’t surprising, given the ghastly state of their world.

Surgat brought the chariot down slowly as Castiel chirped precise, Enochian coordinates to Lucifer. His accent was incredibly weird, but Lucifer translated to the demon dutifully, in Lilim, because that was what Lesser Demons spoke best. Chloe was frowning at him thoughtfully. She didn’t seem frightened, but Lilim was not a beautiful language, and Lucifer worried.

The hellcats landed in a cleared forest beside a weird, abandoned looking building. It was unkempt, a big ugly thing, and beside it was a sunken set of stairs that appeared to lead into a pipe. A building that tall in the middle of nowhere; somebody was clearly compensating for something. Lucifer eyed Dean speculatively.

Poor Castiel, Lucifer decided, not very sympathetically. If Dean was sporting a baby carrot, as it were, instead of the full root, that had to be a strain on the relationship. Surely Crowley’s Pigeon had had enough hardship in his life? Or perhaps this meant not enough _hard_ ship…?

The cats growled and snapped their teeth at the warding, spotted wings flexing. Surgat hopped from the chariot and tottered to them, cooing and crooning, while Lucifer pondered Dean Winchester’s potential-micropenis[2].

“This is it?” Chloe asked, looking around. She craned her neck to look at the big industrial type building. It was rusting in some unfortunate places. This was going to be terrible, wasn’t it?

“Home sweet home,” said Dean. “So—is this dude gonna stay here?” He eyed Surgat, who was patting one of his cats tenderly.

“Yes,” said Lucifer, firm. “I don’t particularly want to travel by wing, or rather by my own wing, and I want the Detective to be able to leave quickly.”

“Lucifer,” chided Chloe.

“This place is called Nightmare World for a reason,” he said. “Humor me.”

She looked at him speculatively and then nodded. “Alright,” she said, “alright.”

“We’ll keep you safe,” promised Castiel. He slipped off the chariot. “However, you must not show your wings, Lucifer,” he added. “They will blind humans, here. Permanently.” 

Well, that was awful. Not that Lucifer particularly liked his wings anyway, but he supposed that this meant no casual preens, no Chloe playing with his coverts while they fell asleep at night. More’s the pity. “Very well,” he said, and slipped off the chariot himself, on the other side. He offered Chloe a hand, which she accepted.

“I think there’s a stable,” Dean said, from the other side. “For the, uh, you know. Cats. It hasn’t been used in like a million years but it’s still there. Please don’t tell me they eat the still beating hearts of virgins?”

“That is disgusting,” said Lucifer. “Feed them cat food.”

“Are you serious?” said Dean.

“Yes. They’re domesticated cats. What do you think _we_ feed them?”

Dean looked at Castiel. “The—still beating hearts of virgins?”

“Impossible to get in Hell. _Honestly_.” Lucifer rolled his eyes. “They get table scraps and dead things. Surgat takes them hunting sometimes; apparently, they can take down a peryton each. Deer,” he added to Chloe when she gave him a questioning look, “kind of. Not really. Anyway, mostly they eat scraps.”

“Huh,” said Dean. “Why is their world so much better than ours?” he asked Castiel. “I bet you anything they eat virgin hearts, here.”

Castiel laughed softly, like Dean was the best thing he’d ever seen. Lucifer rolled his eyes and looked down at Chloe, who was obviously the actual best thing. She’d taken his hand, assessing what appeared to be the door, tucked into the side of a road. It looked almost like an old sewage pipe. Lucifer sighed, thinking of London Below.

“Is that the entrance?” he asked. Chloe’s hand was warm in his, so that was something, at least.

“Yes,” said Castiel. He shared a look with Dean.

“Let me talk to my brother first,” said Dean. “Our Lucifer tortured him in the Cage. He won’t be happy to see you.”

A jolt of horror shot through Lucifer’s invisible wings. He remembered Crowley telling him about this, once. “How did he get _there_?” he breathed. “That thing is no place for humans.”

“It was the apocalypse,” said Castiel. “He saved the world.”

“From alternate me,” said Lucifer. It was a complicated feeling. He wasn’t Nightmare-Lucifer, and didn’t do those things, but he had the potential to do them. They were the same person, after all, with a hundred, a thousand tiny choices, all leading to their different paths. It wasn’t a good feeling, anyway, that his alternate was a monster, was everything he feared to become himself. Chloe must have heard something in his voice because she squeezed his hand.

“Alternate you isn’t you,” she murmured. Hearing it in her voice helped far more than anything he might tell himself.

“And alternate Michael,” Castiel added. “Like I said. It was the apocalypse.”

“I’ll want that story,” Chloe said beside him, “If that’s alright.”

Castiel smiled, just a little. “It’s alright. Do you want me to go with you, Dean?” He was clearly reluctant to let his human out of his sight. Starstruck old thing, Lucifer thought, almost fond. He knew how that felt.

Dean shook his head. “Keep guard out here. I’ll bring Sam out[3].” He nodded to them and then disappeared through the door in the sewage-pipe looking thing. Lucifer eyed it.

“It’s not like London Below again, is it?” he asked, dreading the answer. That door did not look sanitary.

“No. It’s nice inside,” Castiel said.

He would say that, Lucifer thought. Besotted wretch.

Lucifer looked back at the door. He wanted to curl his wing around Chloe. This place was oppressive, wrong in a way he couldn’t articulate. Even the sky, pale blue and cheerful midmorning, seemed darker.

“Are you nervous?” asked Chloe. She squeezed his hand again.

“What’s Sam like?” Lucifer asked, avoiding the question entirely. She gave him a wry look, clearly not fooled.

“He complements Dean,” Castiel said, puffing up a little, proud of his humans. “He is bookish where Dean is instinctive, thoughtful when Dean is rash, and rash where Dean is thoughtful. The danger of the Winchester brothers is that a demon may have one pinned—but the other has crept up behind for the fatal blow[4].”

Lucifer already hated it here. “So, you’re saying they’re both insufferable,” he said. Great.

Chloe rolled her eyes. “Don’t listen to him,” she said, smiling at Castiel, “Can I meet the cats?” she added to Lucifer. It was an obvious ploy to keep them occupied while they waited, but Lucifer indulged her.

“Absolutely,” he said. He tugged lightly on her hand, and she followed gamely. Castiel trailed behind them, clearly curious.

“You called them payards,” Castiel said.

“Yes. Payards, or hellcats. They are native to the Fourth Circle. Mammon was the first to tame them. He’s got a soft touch with animals. They live in the mountains, in mated pairs. That’s why the chariot’s pulled by two.”

“You never think of the animals in Hell,” Chloe murmured. “There must be—whole ecosystems?” This was a question.

Lucifer nodded. “It changes circle to circle. The Eighth Circle, for instance, is nothing but giant worms eating each other, and drakes running about on the shores of the Styx. Hello, lovely,” Lucifer added to the female payard, still hitched to the chariot. He was fairly certain that her name was Eros.

She was an impressive creature, shoulder coming up to his chest, and her wingspan was massive. He patted her huge slab-like shoulder, spotted like a leopard. “It’s alright; they’re quite tame,” he added to Chloe. As if he would let any feral Hell-creature near her.

Chloe stroked the cat’s soft fur, a slow smile lighting her face like a sunrise. “That’s incredible. Even its wings are soft.” She stroked the leading edge of a folded wing. “But no feathers.”

The far hellcat, the male, growled at Castiel, who took a step back. 

“Beggin’ your pardon,” drawled Surgat, lounging on top of the chariot. He was picking at his nails; he looked bored. “Thanatos over there had a bit of a run in with Zuriel, few decades back. He don’t like angels.”

“I see,” said Castiel.

Lucifer snorted. “Good taste. I like that one better.”

“Lucifer,” scolded Chloe, but she looked amused. He grinned at her.

“Hey—Cas?” Dean’s voice floated up from behind them, from that doorway that led to the mysterious and terrible-sounding bunker. 

Castiel brightened, obvious and smitten. It was kind of ridiculous. Wasn’t he supposed to be soldier caste? Honestly. “I was getting a closer look at the payards,” he said lightly, turning. “Lucifer says they’re tame. Would you like to see? Sam?” 

Sam Winchester must have followed Dean. Lucifer turned to give him a once over—

—and his unnecessary heart leaped in his chest. If he had been walking, he would have tripped. Desperate, he looked back at Chloe, the actual love of his life. She was looking at Sam Winchester curiously. No reaction from her. It was just Lucifer.

“Why do I feel a pull?” Lucifer demanded angrily. He glared at Castiel, the nearest angel. “What have you done? Or is it my Father?” That was a growl. Just like his Father, to—bind him to some—some demon-killing human—

“A pull?” asked Chloe quietly.

“He is your vessel,” Castiel said. He strode over to Lucifer. He seemed to intend the proximity as a comfort, but it was all Lucifer could do not to snarl at him. “The vessel of the other Lucifer. Our Lucifer. Just as Dean was Michael’s vessel. It is likely that is the pull you feel.”

“You’re going to have to explain this vessel thing better,” Lucifer said darkly. “Crowley said it was—possession?”

“You don’t know about vessels,” Sam Winchester said slowly. He took a step forward. His voice rang a little, oddly bell-like in Lucifer’s ears. It made his incorporeal feathers stand on end. “ _How_ do you not know about vessels?”

“I’m from another bleeding universe; where have you been? Stay _back_!” Lucifer groped for Chloe and then pulled her behind him, eyes fixed on this overgrown human. She seemed confused, but she went with him.

“Sooo—that’s not what I was expecting,” Dean drawled. “Michael didn’t freak out when I met him.”

“Michael’s an idiot who intrinsically trusts our Father!” shouted Lucifer. “Castiel! What is this!”

“Angels cannot walk on Earth without a vessel,” Castiel said, low. He probably meant it to be soothing but it failed miserably. “Surely, Crowley has told you this. That vessel must be—strong. Some are…. destined. Sam was destined to be Lucifer’s vessel, but he refused.”

Hang on. All angels? “And _your_ —vessel?” Lucifer demanded, rounding on him. “Are you in one too?” Obviously. Obviously, he was. How had he not thought of that? Crowley had definitely told him this, but it was ages ago! He hadn’t known Castiel then. “You’re just—riding around in some human?”

Behind him, from the corner of his eye, he saw Chloe put a hand to her mouth. Finally, on the same page, then. She slipped closer to Lucifer, away from Castiel, horrified.

“Yes. His name was Jimmy Novak. He is dead now.”

“You _murdered_ him?” Lucifer shrieked. He groped for Chloe again, wanting to protect her[5]. This world was deranged! Clearly this was the worst idea he had ever conceived of, and they should return to Daydream World immediately. He glanced up to Surgat, who was watching impassively[6]. Under Lucifer’s eye, he sat up and took his reins—ready to bring the cats to attention and fly them out of this place.

“Actually, you did,” Dean was saying. “Our Lucifer killed him. Long time ago. Why are you freaking out?”

“Why _aren’t_ you freaking out?” Lucifer spluttered. “Your boyfriend isn’t your _boyfriend;_ he’s riding around in a corpse[7]! Not sexy! Whatever happened to free will?” Not that his Mother hadn’t ridden around in dead or mostly dead Charlotte Richards, but that didn’t make it any less creepy.

Besides. She was Mum. She was manipulative and terrible, and she’d never actually been his ally. That she ran around like a zombie was hardly _surprising_ , given her disposition. Lucifer had started to think of Castiel as a friend. This was something of a rude awakening.

If Lucifer had not been furious, he would have been amused at how green Dean Winchester went at the mention of both boyfriends and corpses.

“Humans must consent,” Castiel was saying gravely.

“Oh, good, but it helps if they’re devoted _Dad worshippers_ who think angels are all good and fluffy! You should be ashamed of yourself!”

“I am,” said Castiel gravely. “What happened to Jimmy was one of the greatest regrets of my life. I tore apart his family. It was awful. I tried help his daughter, Claire, but—I can never fix it. I didn’t know any better.” He cast his eyes away, a guilty soul if Lucifer had ever seen one.

“What does this mean for Sam?” asked Chloe, peering around Lucifer. Guiding them back to the point, as always, his darling detective. And she was terribly brave, too; extra supernatural stuff never had agreed with her. “You’re a, a vessel—Lucifer is supposed to possess you?” Her hand tightened convulsively on Lucifer’s arm.

“I will not!” Lucifer shouted, furious. “I made this body! It’s mine! I’m not going to—to trade it in just so I can _destroy_ an innocent soul!” Besides, Sam Winchester wasn’t even a good body! Attractive, yes, but for _sex_ , not for living in! He was way too tall, for one!

Sam Winchester blinked at him[8]. “Good,” he said, but he sounded confused. “Because my answer to you is no.”

“Yeah, humans have to consent,” said Dean, echoing Castiel. “Sammy doesn’t consent.”

“I don’t either!” Lucifer spluttered.

“I think we covered that,” Chloe murmured to him, low. “The one here isn’t you.”

“The one here is _sick_ if he even considered it,” Lucifer hissed.

“Lucifer,” Castiel started.

“And you stay back too!” Lucifer snapped. “I should have set _our_ hedgewitches on you[9]! How dare you possess that guy!” Not that Crowley hadn’t told him. Be he just—hadn’t made the connection.

Castiel had looked weird, it was true, but it was just alternate universe weird. Lucifer had just sort of assumed that he’d made the body a little funny – Amenadiel’s had some weird stuff going on in the back, because he’d never got the wings right; Crowley had shaped his eyes badly, and Aziraphale had kind of gone overboard with the feet. Lucifer himself had got some of the sweat-glands wrong. Nothing noticeable to humans, of course, but it was like fingerprints in clay. It happened. He’d assumed that was what was going on with Castiel without even really thinking about it.

His reaction times were a little weird. Nothing a human would notice, but like there was a tiny, tiny disconnect between thought and movement. Could be a design flaw. A brain thing.

Could also be because he was _ordering a dead thing to move._

“Huh,” said Sam. Lucifer jumped.

“You _are_ different,” Sam added. “Answer’s still no, but it’s not Cas’s fault, you know. That’s just how our universe works.”

“Then find another way,” Lucifer spat. “Or better yet, if that’s how it is, then angels shouldn’t be on earth. Or demons. I’m thinking other me didn’t keep as tight a lid on his demons as I do.”

Sam had a funny, intrigued half smile on his face[10]. “No,” he said, “He doesn’t. He’s also dead.”

“Dean said he killed him,” murmured Chloe, still standing behind Lucifer. She had her hand on his arm, too, a grounding touch. “That he was actually evil.”

“Well, if he went around possessing people is there even any doubt?” Lucifer muttered to her, fraught.

“Nope.” Dean had wandered back around and was standing shoulder to shoulder with Castiel, who looked upset. Good. Lucifer kind of wanted to pull the boy away from him—couldn’t he see that he was cuddling a corpse instead of an angel? What kind of sick mind would think that that was okay[11]?

Crowley had known. Why hadn’t Crowley done anything?

“Anyway,” said Dean, “We should probably get the cats inside. And—” he looked at Surgat.

Surgat smiled at him from the chariot, all rotting teeth. He was still holding the reins. Creepy fellow, old Surgat, but then, all Lesser Demons were creepy in one way or another. Look at Maze, and her obsession with knives.

“He’s a glorified chauffeur,” Lucifer said dryly. “He doesn’t hurt people. Or he _won’t_ hurt people.” He glared. Surgat wilted.

“Of course, m’lord.”

“Cats,” Sam echoed. “Are you serious? What the Hell are we going to feed them?”

Dean shrugged. “Lucifer says cat food.”

“Cat food,” Sam echoed.

Lucifer scowled. “They’re cats.”

“Dean?” blurted Sam.

“Daydream World is freakin’ weird, dude,” Dean said with enthusiasm. “Like, on a lot of levels. Hey, Cas, speaking of weird things, wanna paradox the bunker?”

Castiel perked up.

“Not while I’m inside it,” Lucifer said loudly. That was the last thing he needed, especially because Castiel was apparently possessing a dead guy. Ugh. Gross.

“What?” said Sam.

“I’ll explain later. It’s awesome,” said Dean. “Sam, will you open up the stables from the inside? I’ll take Surgat and the cats here out back.” He strolled away from the front door and added, “Here, kitty, kitty!”

Surgat met Lucifer’s eye, irritated. Lucifer nodded at him, and he clicked his tongue at the cats, turning the chariot, following Dean without complaint.

“You’d best go with him,” Lucifer growled at Castiel. “I’m in no mood to deal with you.”

“Lucifer,” Chloe scolded, but her voice wavered a little; she was unnerved too. It made Lucifer want to shout. Nobody got to upset his detective. 

Castiel narrowed his eyes, protective of his humans. “Do not frighten Sam,” he said.

“I won’t let him,” Chloe said, exasperated. Lucifer scowled at her, but Castiel nodded and slipped away, after Dean.

\-------------------------

[1] Angels didn’t have last names. They had epithets. And the fun thing about epithets was that you could just give them out willy-nilly and see if they stuck. This one meant “Castiel of the Fifth Day.” Lucifer thought it had a good ring to it.

[2] Dean would have _decked_ Lucifer if he’d known this. That bastard! It wasn’t like he _built_ the bunker, or the stupidly tall and probably overcompensating building on top of it! They didn’t even _use_ that building!

[3] The bunker was home. Better to bring Sam _out_ to meet Lucifer, than to have Lucifer go _in_ still looking like a threat. It did bad things to everybody’s heads when enemies crossed that threshold. 

[4] Castiel loved, loved, loved his humans, but deep in his heart he was a strategist, and what impressed him most was strategy. This strategy that he described was a very simple one, but Sam and Dean used it incredibly effectively. Even Castiel had adopted it from them, simple and elegant. It felt good to boast to Lucifer.

[5] Chloe was firm in that she could defend herself, but this was some seriously, seriously terrifying supernatural stuff and yep, she definitely wanted to be protected right now.

[6] Angels who possessed people, Surgat was thinking. Neat.

[7] Sam was mostly confused with a side of terrified, but he did catch this. People called Cas Dean’s boyfriend all the time – but there was something to the way Dean tensed that made him pause. Oh? Had Cas finally made a move? Couldn’t have been Dean, Dean was too much of an idiot for that. But Cas could—maybe. He’d have to get the full story out of them later. He had a bet going with Eileen about it.

[8] Sam was terribly frightened of Lucifer, in all his forms, due to not one, but several very traumatic experiences. He wondered, abstract and horrified, if this Lucifer had the terrible, monstrous face, too. Still—Lucifer freaking out about vessels was not what he had expected. He felt a little—bemused, on top of the fear.

[9] John Constantine would have been _so bloody annoyed_ if Lucifer had tried this and called him.

[10] Because he felt that pull too, of course. He always had, with the other Lucifer. This was no different. He was used to it. But this Lucifer was—different. Probably a trap, but still different. This wasn’t really their Lucifer’s style, at least.

[11] Dan Espinoza, apparently, who had had sex with his Mother while she was possessing Charlotte Richard. Ugh. Gross on so many levels.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ack running a little behind on replying to comments but I wanted to get this out!! If I didn't get to you I STILL LOVE YOU and I'm working on it!!

Chloe turned back to Sam, who was watching them with suspicion. “Sorry,” she said. She took a step away from Lucifer and toward Sam. Lucifer wanted to pull her back. “I think that went off the rails really fast, huh? I’m Chloe, by the way.” She held out a hand. “Human.”

Sam’s eyes were still on Lucifer, uncertain. He hesitated, but eventually shook Chloe’s hand. “Nice to meet you?”

“I’ve heard a lot about you from your brother and Castiel,” Chloe said. “Let’s go inside. I’m sure you have questions. I have questions, frankly.”

Sam looked at Lucifer one last time before nodding. He led them to the weird sewer door.

The place was pretty heavily warded. Lucifer could feel it, but he was the King of Hell, so it didn’t matter so much. Inside was a little platform and darkly painted metal stairs, but below the stairs, it opened up to fifties-tech. Not Lucifer’s style, but not nearly as bad as London Below. At least it was fairly clean. There was a little war-room type of deal at the bottom of the stairs, with a great table at its center. The top of the table was decorated like a map, and on the walls were old-timey machines with buttons and switches. Through the doorway to the next room, he could see shelves full of books, too. Most of them were unremarkable, but he could feel others, buried deep. He might actually have some luck here.

“So, who—are you, exactly?” Sam was asking Chloe. 

“I’m a detective in the LAPD,” Chloe said, clearly trying to calm him down. “Homicide unit. Lucifer is my partner; we investigate murders. In our world, an angel can’t kill a human, before you start accusing him of murder.”

“Are you serious?” Sam asked.

“It’s not allowed,” said Chloe. “Fallen angel or otherwise. Lucifer, have any Greater Demons killed humans?”

“Yes,” said Lucifer, dark, as he looked around curiously. “A few. Crowley bit that guy last year, remember? He was being controlled by the diadem, of course, so I gave him a pardon[1]. The others are imprisoned below the Ninth Circle. I do not permit them to walk freely among the rest. Lesser Demons _can_ kill humans; you know Maze has. I didn’t want to disarm myself entirely. But their movements are tightly controlled; mostly they don’t come to Earth. Imps don’t listen to anyone, but they’re not supposed to go Topside either.”

“Greater Demons?” Sam asked.

“Fallen angel!” Dean strolled into the room, Castiel on his heels. Presumably Surgat was staying with his cats. “Sammy, it’s insane. They have _three_ different kinds of demons.”

Sam made a horrified face. “Three?”

“ _Three_ ,” said Dean. “All different ways to kill them too, I bet.” He raised an eyebrow at Lucifer.

Lucifer snorted. “Good luck. My legions are far greater than a horde of whiny imps.” As if he was going to start spilling secrets to a pair of hedgewitches, even if they were Angel Network through association with Castiel. Castiel was wearing a dead body. He was on probation, starting now. Lucifer clapped his hands. “But that’s irrelevant because my legions are entirely under control, unlike yours. Your Lucifer is terrible. Where are your books? The real ones, I mean, not these.” He waved at the shelves around them. Those were human books. He could feel that they had others. 

Sam and Dean looked affronted, but Chloe smiled her lovely smile at him, the one where she was trying not to smile. “Lucifer,” she scolded. She sounded like she wanted to laugh. He had no idea what he had done, but he was glad he did it. Her amusement was like a balm.

Castiel sighed. “I’ll show you the way,” he said slowly. “But there’s something you have to know, first.”

“More revelations? Do you devour children, now?” Lucifer snapped.

“Seriously?” said Sam to the general air, incredulous for some unimaginable reason. “Seriously?”

“I know,” said Dean. “Weird, right? No, he doesn’t hurt _kids_ , come on. Leave him alone.”

“We _pinion_ angels who kill humans without permission,” growled Lucifer[2]. Apparently, that struck a nerve at last, because Dean straightened and strode in front of Castiel, abruptly livid. Castiel blinked at him, looking startled. 

“Then you pinion yourself, because Cas didn’t kill Jimmy; your alternate did,” Dean spat. “Don’t you touch his wings.”

Sam’s eyebrows had risen to his hairline. He looked at Dean like he’d never seen him before[3].

“Why don’t we all calm down,” Chloe said, low and soothing. “Lucifer isn’t going to pinion anybody.”

But Lucifer was on a roll, and he steamed right on through. “Oh, once you open that can of worms, there’s no going back,” he growled. “Why do you think killing humans is forbidden? You start devaluing human lives and it all goes to—well—Hell.” He smiled. It wasn’t a nice smile. “It’s why Sandalphon is the way that he is, why Gabriel lost all his sweetness. Even Uriel was a little creep because of it, all those indirect deaths—” 

“Gabriel?” asked Sam. “Ours lived on Earth. He killed people, yeah, but generally only people he thought needed to be punished. He didn’t like to see his siblings fighting, so he left Heaven. He’s dead now.”

Lucifer gulped a little, derailed. This universe was bloody terrible. It was one thing after another. “Dead?” he asked, shocked. He didn’t like the cretin, but he was still his brother and his nestmate.

“Michael,” said Sam. “Well. First you, and then he escaped, and then he was killed by an alternate Michael. Long story.”

Lucifer scowled. “This place is so _wrong_.”

“You were trying to tell us something,” said Chloe, firm, looking at Castiel. Thank Someone for Chloe, really, getting them back on track. Every minute in this place there was another awful revelation. Lucifer braced himself. “What was it?”

“Jack,” said Castiel, still behind Dean. He'd put his hand on Dean's arm as if steadying him. “I was trying to tell you about Jack. He is a Nephilim. The child of our Lucifer, but he is an innocent. He recently got his soul back; he is in mourning. He is in his room and he is not to be disturbed. He is frightfully powerful, but he is _my son,_ and I will not stand for you to be cruel to him.”

“Our kid,” Dean added, crossing his arms and dislodging Castiel. “All of ours. No attacking him, no calling him names, nothing. He’s like four years old. Looks older. Hurt him and we come down on you like a ton of bricks, clear?”

Lucifer hardly heard him.

His ears were ringing.

A _Nephilim_? He shot Chloe a panicked look. _His_ Nephilim?

“Who’s the mother?” he rasped.

“Dead,” said Dean.

“Of course,” Lucifer whispered. Birthing a Nephilim was fatal without the proper care, and this universe definitely lacked care. The thought of his Detective dead from such a thing, even an alternate Detective, sent a shudder of horror down his spine. He wanted to cling to her, to babble promises that he would never do that to her, but he refrained.

“Lucifer?” Chloe asked, rather innocently.

“A Nephilim is the child of an angel and a human,” Lucifer told her, numb. “I have been very careful, for many years, not to produce one. I do not like children. I do not _want_ children, especially ones with the kind of destructive power that a Nephilim would have[4].”

This was true. But there was more to the story: he had seen what had happened, the last time angels had produced Nephilim. The children had died screaming, fleeing, terrified. He had heard their cries from Hell as they were snatched into the Empty, heard the heartbreak from their parents. Some of their angel parents had even been cast down into Hell, weeping inconsolably. In those days Lucifer had still been conquering Hell; more soldiers had been welcome. They had conquered the Second Circle, with those new soldiers. Lust. Lucifer had thought it fitting, at the time. Many of them still lived there, still screaming into that circle’s endless storms. 

Lucifer disliked children, but that heartbreak was enough to put him off entirely. He understood it better now, having met Trixie, loving Chloe. He would die for any child of hers. It was terrifying. 

Adam, he had made. Adam was like a Lesser Demon, but with flair; he’d been made with the firmament of Hell with some of Lucifer’s essence inside. It was different. It wasn’t as organic. Adam’s immense power came from growing up on Earth, a little bit archangel, a little bit demon and a little bit Earthly. Of course, his upbringing and love of humanity made him a little bit human, too, and that put his strength off the chart, more than anyone could imagine. Most importantly, the boy had a family that he loved. Lucifer knew without a shadow of a doubt that he was safe and content. Unlike this Jack, marooned in this terrible world.

“He’s not yours,” Chloe said gently, as if reading his mind. “He’s theirs.” She nodded to Dean. “Not your responsibility. He has a family.”

He swallowed at met her earnest eyes. Her concern made something in him unclench. That did, actually, help. “I’m not in the habit of hurting children,” Lucifer managed, still a little numb.

“Good,” said Castiel. He slipped out from behind Dean, brushing his wrist deliberately against Dean’s hip, affectionate, the way an angel might nudge a companion with a wing. “This way.”

Chloe took his hand as they followed Castiel deeper into this strange bunker. It was subway tiled and warded, bookshelves upon bookshelves, but none of them were the right bookshelves. Lucifer could hear Sam and Dean talking and then arguing behind them, but he ignored them. He hoped that this Jack would stay in his room, that they would not run into him.

“You alright?” Chloe murmured. She squeezed his hand.

Lucifer looked at Castiel’s dead back. “I hate this place,” he said, low and honest. “We’ve been here a half hour and it keeps getting worse.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty bad,” she agreed. She eyed Castiel’s back, too. “So, it’s a—dead body?”

She didn’t really need to elaborate. “Disgusting,” sniffed Lucifer.

“Disturbing, at least,” Chloe said, low. “It’s-- _probably_ not his fault.” She sounded kind of doubtful, like she wanted convincing. “You heard Sam and Dean. That’s how angels get to Earth, here.”

“Doesn’t make it normal.”

She grimaced. “No. Not at all.”

“I can hear you, you know,” Castiel said gruffly. “I still have an angel’s hearing.”

“Zombie angel,” muttered Lucifer.

Chloe snorted, unable to contain it. “I’m sorry, Castiel,” she said, collecting herself. “Just—it is a little disturbing. Give us some time to get used to it.”

Castiel looked back at them out of his dead man’s eyes and softened a little. “I understand,” he said. “It is—unpleasant.” They reached a door, which Castiel casually unlocked.

It was made of iron, that door. It was warded within an inch of its life, too. Lucifer blinked: the things of real value were kept in this room, and their auras hit him like a ten-ton truck when the door opened.

“Darling,” he murmured to Chloe.

“Hmm?”

“Don’t touch anything in this room,” said Lucifer. “Is there anything in here that will kill at a touch?” he asked Castiel. He kind of knew that the answer was _yes_ but it was worth asking.

Castiel shrugged his zombie shoulders. “Everything is catalogued. The most dangerous artifacts are labeled, though truth be told we don’t spend very much time down here. I—try to discourage them. I don’t like it in here.”

“No kidding,” Lucifer murmured. The place was a jumbled mess of Dark and Light and In Between, power and magic zinging through the air. Not the sort of place you wanted your humans hanging about. He eyed Chloe nervously.

“Sam and Dean have added to the collection,” Castiel was saying. “But some of the other artifacts are older. This bunker originally belonged to the Men of Letters, and they were collecting long before we got here. I know less about the older ones; you’ll have to check the catalog.”

Lucifer nodded. He had no idea what a Man of Letters was and had no intention of finding out. It didn’t matter. He squeezed Chloe’s hand. “You do the catalog,” he told her. “Not the artifacts. There are some truly evil things in here.” He paused. “And some demons. There are definitely some demons trapped in here, too.” He could hear them, a little, scrabbling and screaming at the bars of their cages. Best to ignore that.

“Do not let them out,” Castiel said firmly.

“Wasn’t planning to,” Lucifer muttered, though the hair stuck up at the back of his neck. He didn’t particularly like cages.

Castiel nodded. “I’ll be upstairs, with my humans,” he said. “If you need anything, call.” He turned to go.

Oh, bloody Hell. He couldn’t just let him go like that, all dead and creepy. “Castiel,” said Lucifer without looking at him. Castiel paused.

Lucifer looked at one of the shelves. There was an imp stuck in a crystal, third shelf from the bottom. He gazed at it in its prison, and still didn’t look at Castiel. “If I were to bring you firmament of Hell, would you trade in the dead thing for your own body?”

It was just—he was Angel Network. And Crowley loved him, and so did Aziraphale. Even Amenadiel had gushed a little, about playing moronic fledgling games with him. And Lucifer—kind of liked him, too. He’d handled himself well in Hell, that time. Anyway, you did things for Angel Network.

“Absolutely,” said Castiel, without hesitating. “I have been Jimmy for a very long time, but it is—gruesome.”

Lucifer nodded. He glanced back at Castiel, standing awkwardly in the doorway. “Gaap is in charge of the firmament. We don’t have much, so you mustn’t be careless. Generally speaking, you mix it with an element of your choosing and grow it like a flower. I’ll get you some, on the way back.”

“Thank you, Lucifer,” Castiel said, wide-eyed.

“You’ll owe me a favor,” Lucifer said. “I cannot do this for free. Firmament is rare. It replenishes slowly, and Hell needs it. But you also need to get out of that—thing.” This was true. He couldn’t just give that stuff away. Even people like Crowley had to fill out reams of paperwork for a new body. They only had so much, and the very thought of running out was absolutely horrifying. He had no desire to be anything like Nightmare World, to be reduced to possessing humans the way Castiel was. Gross. 

“I will not kill,” said Castiel, “and I will not die, and I will not hurt or abandon my humans or Jack.”

“Fair terms,” said Lucifer. “Now go tend to your hedgewitches.”

Castiel nodded and swept off.

\--------------

[1] Poor Crowley had been beside himself when it really sank in. He was no murderer, and he respected those rules. Lucifer didn’t feel the need to punish him for something he never would have done, if not forced.

[2] Well. He didn’t know about Heaven. But Lucifer had certainly pinioned the Greater Demons who directly and deliberately killed living humans. There were fourteen of them, and they would never fly again. Those demons that indirectly killed humans--well--if he started pinioning them, nobody in Hell would ever fly again, including Lucifer. 

[3] Oh, wow, maybe Cas did make that move?

[4] Well. That answered that question, Chloe thought. She still had to tell Lucifer about the whole antichrist-child thing, but now was probably not the time. At least they were on the same page, though. No kids. Did that make this Jack the antichrist? Or—another antichrist? Her head was kind of spinning.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter, so I figured I'd post it sooner rather than make you wait :D

Lucifer watched the great iron doors close behind Castiel. He could break through them. He was certain of it. He could break out of this room, if he needed to. But those doors were warded, and they were strong, and it sent a weird shiver up his spine when they closed.

He was sure the doors were not locked. And he could break through those wards anyway. But it would be unpleasant. Lucifer didn’t like cages.

“I can’t believe you got a favor out of him,” Chloe said after a short silence, breaking him from his dark thoughts. “He’s Angel Network.”

“He’s a zombie,” muttered Lucifer. He turned back to her, to where she stood, beautiful and calm. It calmed him, a little.

“You were calling him Pigeon hours ago.”

“That was before I knew he was wearing a dead man like a cheap coat.”

Chloe grimaced. “Yeah, it is pretty creepy. What are you looking for in here?” She gestured to the room. 

Lucifer followed her gaze and looked around, at the shelves and shelves, all overflowing with the weird and the rare and the cursed. “I’m not sure yet. My library is not exhaustive and human ingenuity is far greater than mine. A shielding spell, perhaps, or an illusion to make our world seem lost when it is not. Or a way to find my Mother’s universe, so I can call her for help. A way to trap my Father. Something about you, darling,” he added with a smile, “and why Dad can’t seem to get near you.”

Chloe gave an apprehensive sigh. “You think you’ll find that here?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. I have access to most of the occult books in our world, one way or another. Perhaps there is something here that is not duplicated.” He shrugged.

“I’ll take a look at that catalog,” she said. He loved her determination, her competence, he thought, a little helplessly. “You look around. Don’t—I mean, if this stuff is dangerous to touch—”

“Not to me,” said Lucifer, smiling wryly.

“Be careful,” she told him, firm, and her regard warmed his stomach.

“Always, Detective,” he said cheerfully. He could practically hear her eyeroll and he strolled into the stacks.

There was a lot of weird stuff here. Not like, ordinary spellcaster stuff. No angel feathers, no pieces of saints or demon skins. No dragon’s breath or newt eyes or any of that. There was diamond’s bane, dried, from the banks of the Styx. How any human, or even any imp, had got their hands on that he had no idea. In Daydream World, even Belial’s eels couldn’t get close enough to harvest that flower, because it had roots so deadly that they were poisonous to touch, to smell—practically to look at. The roots, of course, were in a jar right next to the dried blooms. Why would you even want that stuff? It was like the poison ivy of Hell. Awful. 

There were heads imbued with ghosts and demons. A rattling box contained an imp that Lucifer was pretty sure was an incubus, a male sex imp, right next to another box containing a succubus, a female sex imp. A fun time, but not worth the power drain. Lucifer walked past them. There were cursed objects of every kind. A promising scroll radiated darkness, but when Lucifer unrolled it, it became clear that the scroll was made to summon Rhorqul, a marine vengeance god, that would tear up the land. The curse on the parchment sparked at his hands, useless. He rolled it up and put it back.

There were books, too. Hundreds of them, each burning darker than the last. Some blazed with bright Enochian sigils; Lucifer took them down and flipped through them, one by one. Angel magic, every one, angel secrets Lucifer already knew. He put the books back.

Some books were Hellish, but that was Hell magic—and still magic he knew, magic he had _written,_ in one form or another. He read these spells with interest. They were a little different from his own; Nightmare Lucifer was sloppy in his rage, his magic lashing out in all directions, even upon the caster. These spells had been written by a disciple, likely sitting at the foot of the cage, and not the angel himself, but still.

It gave him a bit of a chill, to be frank. He traced over the runes, fascinated by what he could see of this other, this lunatic. Fury burned in every glyph. Nightmare Lucifer’s magic, his theory, his _mind_ , was centered around destruction. He had clearly forgotten desire entirely[1].

This Lucifer had become everything Dad had wanted him to be, Lucifer realized. He had become the villain. This one was evil. A walking stereotype. He put the book back in disgust. How dare he? How dare this other fold to Dad’s will, and become _that_?

“Lucifer?” Chloe, like a soothing balm, where he had been so angry at this other Lucifer.

He stepped back from the shelf and shook the darkness from his eyes. “Yes, darling?”

“Have you come across a _Book of the Damned_ , yet?”

“We have that one in our world,” Lucifer said, strolling to the main aisle of the stacks. “I own it.”

“Did you check it?” She walked down the aisle to his side. “It looks like it might have something useful, though it’s in code, apparently.”

“I broke the code years ago,” said Lucifer. “We do have it. Written on the skin of a eunuch—all very unpleasant.”

“No,” Chloe said. She showed him the catalog card. “Written on the skin of a nun.”

That was different.

Lucifer cast about for the book. It took some searching, even with the catalog card. This place was quite large, but he pulled it out eventually. He could sort of feel its darkness, how it radiated. It wasn’t what he remembered—the eunuch who had written the damned thing in their world had been meticulous. He’d flayed himself raw and tanned his own skin, finally cutting it and binding it in a book. The fellow had actually done a very good job – the leather was soft and fit well together.

This one—the leather was tanned poorly. Shoddy craftsmanship. It had hardened over time and was sloppily bound. Lucifer pulled it out.

The thing was in code, of course. It was the same code; Lucifer knew it.

 _THE BOOK OF THE DAMNED_ it said in the inside cover.

_PART THREE_

\-----------------

[1] Not true. He remembered his own desires very well. It was other people who had kind of fallen into the wayside, but who cared about _them_ , anyway?


	4. Chapter 4

“We have part one,” said Lucifer, putting the book down on the Winchesters’ tacky world-map-table thing with a dramatic sound. The brothers and their angel were sitting at the table in the middle of their kind of old-fashioned war room. The map was lit from below and at the top of the table; Lucifer imagined Sam and Dean moving little men on it, playing Risk, or something equally ridiculous. “I assumed the old bastard died before he could finish the rest. But this says it’s part three.”

“Ooookay,” said Dean. He leaned forward in his chair. “What about it?”

Lucifer rolled his eyes. “Look. Can I have a—thank you.” Sam had passed him a sheet of paper and a pen. He wasn’t so bad, for a creepily compelling vessel-thing. Or maybe that was that creepy pull talking. Whatever; better not to think about it too hard. “This is from our _Book of the Damned_.” He drew a great semi-circle, like a half moon, and etched the proper runes, though he added a few symbols to cancel it out, so it wasn’t a real spell.

“You just—had that in your head,” Chloe said, standing at his shoulder.

“It’s the _Book of the Damned_ , darling, of course I had it in my head. I’ve read the hideous thing cover to cover several times. Very useful, really.” He finished his drawing. “This is a spell of summoning a damned spirit, very simple. Now look at this.” He flipped to the first page—the very first page!—of this other book. The pages were crinkled and damaged, but they turned well enough. 

It required translation from the code, of course, but that was alright. He’d committed the blasted code to memory two hundred years ago, in a fit of pique, thinking that if he could un-damn himself then Amenadiel couldn’t find him. That had failed miserably. Lucifer made quick work of this though; it was another spell, a semi-circle like a smile, runes scattered within it. He put the papers, one next to the other, to create an almost-completed circle.

“A finding, from someplace far,” he said, touching the new spell. “A summoning to someplace near,” he touched the first spell, “and we’re missing a piece. We’re missing book two. These are made for damned things— and the combination of these spells expands it beyond souls to creatures, anything. That is where its power lies; these spells combined will be able to call _anything_ that has been damned—even myself. With a spell like this I can not only find my Mother, who has been damned, but I can call her—and I bet the last half of this spell is a controlling aspect.”

“Listen,” this was Sam, weirdly beautiful Sam. Lucifer averted his eyes, not liking that pull, that feeling of being manipulated. It didn’t even have the decency to feel like normal attraction, which he could deal with—enjoy, even. No, this was a want for something else, and he couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was. Attraction was in there, but there was more. It was something dark, like ownership, and it went against everything Lucifer stood for. “We’ve dealt with this kind of thing before, when we released the Darkness. Gods—or god-tier beings—it’s not usually as easy as you think, and they tend to make bigger problems than what you started with.”

“What could possibly be worse than Dad destroying the universe?” Lucifer asked, wry. Next to him, Chloe made a _why is this my life_ face. He couldn't really blame her. 

“Yeah, you just jinxed it,” said Dean. “Things can always get worse.”

Lucifer grimaced. It wasn’t a bad point. “Very well then,” he said. “Do you have any other ideas? Castiel does claim that you are professionals and have saved the world multiple times.” 

Castiel shifted uncomfortably. The two scruffy humans looked at each other. Clearly, they had bupkus. “Right,” said Lucifer.

“Billie is planning something with Jack,” Castiel said. “Something that will – kill God.”

“That will upset the balance,” Lucifer said. He had only the faintest idea that Billie was their Death[1], but it didn’t matter. Killing Dad without killing Dad’s equal and opposite was bad news. If you murdered Dad, you had to murder the Darkness, Aunt Amara, too. That was a lot of murder, and Aunt Amara had never really done anything wrong. “Has it occurred to you that an incarnation of Death might _want_ to upset the balance? Death is just a Reaper, one psychopomp out of millions. Have you spoken to Azrael? Your—Azrael, I mean?”

“She is dead,” said Castiel. “She died in the Rebellion. The first one.” 

“Thus, why the psychopomps took over the job, I see,” muttered Lucifer. “This world is _broken_.”

“But that’s also not a bad point,” said Sam. “We don’t know Billie’s plan.”

“I don’t care about Billie’s plan,” said Lucifer loudly. “I want my world safe. Yours is a convenient accessory to that. Castiel, for some unfathomable reason Crowley loves you, which means I will provide transport to you and yours back to Daydream World should this place go kaput, and from what you say, it probably will. Now, unless you have any better ideas, I will be searching for the second part of the _Book of the Damned_ so I can coerce my Mother into subduing my Father, so we can all go home.”

The brothers looked at each other, long, long partnership communicating faster than words. 

“Your plan doesn’t involve Jack,” Castiel said.

“No,” said Lucifer.

“Then I’m in,” Castiel replied fiercely.

Sam and Dean looked at each other.

“Yeah,” Sam said, at last. “Yeah, that’s a fair point[2].”

Beside him, Dean nodded. “What do you need from us?”

What he needed was an inkling of where the book might be. There were infinite universes out there, and Dad had killed most of them already. He said as much, flipping through the crusty old human-skin pages of _Part Three_. This Agnes really had been a terrible tanner. Serge, who’d written the thing in their world, was much better. 

There was an idea. “I need information on this nun,” Lucifer said slowly. “I can talk to my people to get stuff on Serge, who wrote it in our world.”

“You think there’s a connection,” Chloe said.

“Maybe,” Lucifer shrugged.

Chloe’s eyes gleamed. “I can help you with a connection,” she said.

Ah. Yes. Too much supernatural. His darling detective did tend to get overwhelmed. But treating it like a case? She was back in the game. He smiled at her. “I’ll send a letter to Crowley and Aziraphale,” he said. “They’ll be able to dig up whatever musty old tomes there are about Serge.”

“I’ll help you with that,” said Sam. “I can write Aziraphale, too. He’s good at this sort of thing.”

“You—know Aziraphale?” Chloe asked.

Sam smiled. “We’ve been trading letters,” he said, a little sheepish. “We share some interests.”

Dean rolled his eye. “Nerd,” he muttered.

Lucifer rolled his eyes too. “Well, we need information quickly. Castiel, have you any parchment?”

Castiel nodded his stolen head. “I’ll be right back,” he said. He stood.

Dean frowned after him and then hopped to his feet, following, probably to go make out or something. Lucifer hoped they wouldn’t take too long.

Well. They probably _couldn’t_ take very _long_. Dean had a teeny weeny problem, after all. Served Castiel right. Ugh, that was a gross thought; that body was dead! Did that count as necrophilia? Gross, gross, gross.

Sam watched Dean walk off thoughtfully. Lucifer wondered if he was pondering the necrophilia problem, and then decided that he didn’t want to know.

“I do have a question for you, Lucifer,” Sam said slowly, after they were gone[3]. His fingers drummed nervously on top of Greenland, backlit, a washed out violet on the map table.

“What,” Lucifer muttered. He averted his eyes for a second, glanced at Australia, certain that he would not like this question. 

“What were you doing on Daydream Earth? If you got out of your cage—why leave Hell?”

Yep. Definitely didn't like it. That bordered on insulting, really. “I don’t know if you’ve realized this,” Lucifer drawled, looking back at him, “But Hell is bloody awful. Squabbling demons and the damned get frightfully boring over the centuries. Earth is full of light and life and humans. It’s much better.”

“You hate humans,” said Sam, dark.

“No. Nightmare me hates humans. I _love_ humans. For the last time, Winchester, I don’t hurt people.”

Sam’s eyes were calculating on Lucifer’s, untrusting. There was a world of horror in that boy, and a world of trauma. Something had torn up his very soul. There were marks, great slashes, deep in him, Lucifer realized. He could see them. What on earth had happened to him?

Those slashes looked familiar, too, like—they looked like—

Lucifer clenched his fist, his fingernails leaving red marks in his palm. He was certain that his nails were the same shape as Sam’s invisible scars. He shuddered.

“What do you love about them?” Sam said at last, shrewd and searching for a lie, and all torn up inside. “Humans. What is it that you like[4]?”

He was probably expecting Lucifer to say _bashing their heads in_ or something equally horrifying. Lucifer took a breath and focused on the present. “They’re terribly clever, you know,” he said, instead. “Invent all kinds of useful things. And they burn so brightly—their souls, I mean, not literally. They’re all so different, with different, terribly creative desires. Humans are wonderful. It’s not your fault that Dad’s a prat. I’d rather _steal_ his toys than break them. Nobody wins when you break everything.”

Sam sat back, raising his eyebrows. “How do I know you’re not lying?”

“Time.” This was Chloe. She'd taken a seat, loyal and thoughtful at his side. Lucifer swallowed. She was wonderful and she was whole, and he would never, could never hurt her. He was not Nightmare Lucifer, who had damaged Sam so. The very idea of what could have happened to his detective, had she come in contact with this other, had Lucifer been more like him, was utterly horrifying. “He doesn’t lie, but I can’t prove that to you with anything but time. Still, if your Lucifer was so horrible, then you can use me as evidence.” She smiled. “He’s never hurt me, or any of our friends. He hurts people for our job—I’m a homicide detective, and sometimes you need to defend yourself. But that’s it, Sam. Lucifer’s the best partner I’ve ever had.”

Lucifer's stomach did something weird at that, love and dread competing. Her faith in him was heartbreaking, in light of who he could have been. 

Sam frowned. “You’re right—that can only take time,” he said. “I can’t believe you just yet. Lucifer in this world—did some pretty terrible things. I don’t know how you got Dean to trust you, but that seems suspicious to me.”

No kidding about the terrible things, but Lucifer huffed, a little amused anyway, genuinely pleased to change the subject. “Oh, that’s the paradox. Ask him about it, the answer’s great.”

“Lucifer,” hissed Chloe, elbowing him, but her eyes twinkled. She was laughing inside; he just knew it. It made him grin, soothed. “Dean’s the only human besides me who’s successfully done a full paradox,” she added to Sam, amused. “It was with Castiel. It’s the most convincing argument for trusting Lucifer we have. Lucifer’s right. Ask him about it. He’ll probably get embarrassed.”

Sam smiled, just a little. “That’s—compelling,” he said, just a spark of mischievous-little-brother in him. He eyed them a bit more, nervously, before Dean and Castiel’s footsteps echoed down the hall.

“Was it good?” leered Lucifer. To his abject amusement Dean turned bright red[5].

“Shut up, Lucifer,” said Castiel. He passed Lucifer a fountain pen and a quill. Lucifer took them and started to write.

_Crowley,_

_We may have the beginnings of a plan to stop Dad blowing everything up. I’m going to need as much information as you can find about Serge Chastain; he was a eunuch in the late fourteenth century, and the author of the_ Book of the Damned _, which you can find bound in human skin, in my library. He was a very good tanner; the book is in good nick. The tale of Serge is gruesome, but it connects to a certain nun in Nightmare World named Agnes (no relation to the famed Madam Nutter, as far as I know). We are searching for a third: there should be yet another person, beset by madness in another universe, who produced a terrible book like this. If Serge left any notes about what spoke through him, include that too. Tell me what you find._

_Furthermore, did you know that your beloved Pigeon is wearing a dead human?_

_Lucifer_

“Zephyr,” Lucifer called. “ _Advoco_.”

Zephyr was much more amenable than Boreas. It soared in eagerly through a broken window, wings and wings and wings. “ _Salve, Lucifer_ ,” it crooned. Chloe jumped at his side at the sound of its voice. Of course, she could not see it, being human.

“ _Salve, amice,_ ” Lucifer told it warmly. “ _Feresne nuntium mihi?_ ” He rolled up the letter and looked up. Zephyr was hovering right in front of his face, all gazillion glimmering wings and curious eyes. Lucifer jerked back, spluttering.

 _“Dulcis amica ripae, semper uicina profundis,_  
 _Suaue cano Musis; nigro perfusa colore,_  
 _Nuntia sum linguae digitis signata magistris_.”

Zephyr looked at him and rolled over midair, expectant.

“What the Hell?” blurted Lucifer.

Dean groaned. “It likes to ask riddles sometimes. It’s annoying[6].”

“What did it say?” Chloe asked.

“Something about the sweet friend of the shore?” Sam said, frowning. Lucifer could practically see the gears turning in his head. 

“ _Enigma,_ ” agreed Zephyr smugly, still upside down. “ _Est enigma._ ”

“What’s the riddle?” Chloe asked.

“I know it,” said Castiel. “I read it in one of Aziraphale’s libraries once; it’s—Symphosius—” he looked down at his pen, frowning thoughtfully. Back in the day, Lucifer thought, also looking at that pen, it would have been made from a plant. Tongue’s messenger.

Lucifer sighed, and he got there before Castiel. “It’s a reed. _Harundo_ ,” he added to Zephyr. 

Zephyr shivered happily and reached for the letter. Lucifer gave it over, and the West Wind vanished.

“I was getting there,” said Castiel, a little affronted.

“Angels are terrible at riddles,” Lucifer drawled. “But more importantly: the West Wind asks you riddles?”

“It’s really annoying,” scowled Dean. “And it’s also only occasionally.”

“I think it’s kind of fun,” Sam muttered[7].

“That’s because you’re a nerd,” said Dean.

Thank Someone Boreas never asked riddles. Dean was right; it was incredibly annoying. 

Lucifer looked to Chloe and sighed. Nightmare world just got worse and worse, didn't it? From creepy zombie-angels to annoying messenger winds. He hated that she was here, but he also loved that she was beside him. She met his eye and gave him a wry smile, clearly just as bemused as he was about the riddle-asking West Wind. He smiled back. At least he had her company for the awkward wait, he thought. Boreas better come back soon. 

\----------

[1] If Death had a name other than Azrael it was a psychopomp, and Lucifer had little time for psychopomps.

[2] This Lucifer was different, though Sam definitely didn’t trust him. Still, Billie’s plan couldn’t be good, and at least they could keep an eye on this one.

[3] He was not thinking about necrophilia. He was thinking that he was still pretty damn scared of Lucifer, any Lucifer, but he was focusing on hiding it.

[4] Chloe sat back, and she listened. She trusted Lucifer wholeheartedly, but she did kind of want this answer, too.

[5] Oh, look at that! Sam suppressed a gleeful grin. He was going to enjoy that conversation _so much._ He was going to make Dean _suffer_ as only a little brother could. It was going to be great.

[6] Zephyr was playful where Boreas was taciturn. It was very irritating.

[7] Sam called Zephyr a lot more than Dean did because Sam liked to chat with Aziraphale. Sensing a playmate, Zephyr liked to give him more riddles than it did to everyone else. Since none of his letters were urgent, Sam kind of enjoyed them.


	5. Chapter 5

Boreas came back very quickly, so that was something, at least. It deposited the letter in front of Lucifer, who opened it. It was heavy and long and he smoothed it onto the table, so the others could see, too. 

_Boss,_

_THANK YOU for writing; I’ve been in this bloody bed all day and my wing itches like the worst itchy thing. I’m fine, by the way, thanks for not asking, you prat **[1]**. Anyway, tell Sam that I’m replying instead of Aziraphale because 1) you addressed the letter to me and 2) I am so bored in this bed I could claw my own eyes out. _

_Anyway. It had to be the fourteenth century. I HATE the bloody fourteenth century!_

_Aziraphale says the story of Serge Chastain is a tragic one. He actually had the_ Book of the Damned _in the bookshop for a while, but some dickhead stole it in the sixteenth century, and he never got it back. Anyway, apparently Aziraphale knew the guy; he sang in a cathedral. He was the son of a tanner, castrated by his own mother in the hopes that he would be a musical star, but never quite made it; he joined up with the church instead. Lost his whole family in the plague, too. So, he was penniless, without a family, and without even his balls. Aziraphale says he was crushingly lonely but very pious, blah blah blah fourteenth century, and then at age twenty-five he woke screaming in the night._

 _And here’s the weird bit. Aziraphale was working on that cathedral. He was trying to elevate it, you know how angels are, but that night Aziraphale looked up from his reading in the rectory and found that he couldn’t breathe. Like, couldn’t breathe and needed to breathe. Something big and bad had taken over that cathedral, and it was bigger and badder than a little angel like Aziraphale could stand. He ran, and he says he could hear shadowbeasts in the corners, things from Before, from the Beginning, hounding his tracks. He didn’t have his sword then, but apparently, he spent the next decade Guarding the doors of that cathedral, because there were monsters from beyond the gates of the Silver City in there. They never touched the people inside, but they sang to Serge. Aziraphale says he could hear Serge screaming from the bell tower, sometimes in, get this,_ Enochian _. Bloody fourteenth century, who even knows._

 _And then ten years later it was all gone. The monsters left, and Aziraphale found Serge naked, covered in blood and shit, and weeping in his little cell. Beside him was the_ Book of the Damned _. He tried to take it, to keep it away from human hands, but you know how it is—worked for a while, but not forever._

_Serge lived for another decade, and then he hanged himself. He dreamed of Something Hungry in the dark for the rest of his life. Gives me the creeps._

_Honestly, boss, the whole_ Book of the Damned _thing confuses me. Because it doesn’t come from Heaven, and it certainly doesn’t come from Hell. So, who on Earth possessed Serge? Why give him the information? The denizens of purgatory certainly don’t have this sort of information. And they don’t have shadowbeasts. Shadowbeasts exist only outside the gates of the Silver City. So, who wrote the book?_

_Crowley_

Lucifer sat back with a frown. “Shadowbeasts,” he murmured.

“Something outside of Heaven?” Chloe asked, reading over his shoulder. “What’s outside of Heaven?”

“The Empty,” Castiel replied darkly.

“Oh, there’s more than that,” Lucifer murmured. He slid the letter over to Sam, and Dean bent close to read it, too. “The old Shadow likes to say it’s the be-all and the end-all, but it’s a lie. Amara liked to haunt our city gates—that’s the Darkness, darling,” he added to Chloe. “Dad’s sister. I used to speak with her. But she never cared for shadowbeasts. Nor did the Shadow, name aside. All the Shadow ever wanted was to sleep.”

“The Shadow?” Chloe asked.

“The Darkness That Follows,” Lucifer told her with a grim smile. “Better translation. Sort of a boogie man for angels. It’s in charge of the Empty, the realm we go to when we die.”

“Also called the Cosmic Entity,” Castiel muttered. “We’ve met.”

“Doesn’t like it when you wake it up,” Lucifer said dryly.

“No,” said Castiel with an amused half-smile on his dead, dead face. “It doesn’t.”

“We need more information on Agnes,” said Sam at last. “See what matches up to Serge, what doesn’t. There’s probably a connection.”

“What’s a shadowbeast?” asked Dean.

“They’re the reason Heaven is a fortress,” Castiel said. “They used to attack in droves, in the Beginning.”

“They eat souls,” added Lucifer. “Or, or grace or whatever you call it here. They just—eat. They’re like—” Sam had brought him parchment before. Lucifer drew, kind of a stick figure: a ten-legged thing with big chompy jaws. He drew its ghostly young, a shadowling, next to it.

Sam snorted[2].

“Oh, yeah, that clears it up,” Dean muttered, rolling his eyes. Chloe giggled, and that was frankly offensive.

“What?” he asked her.

“Never change,” she told him with a smile, because she was the worst girlfriend of all time and he loved her terribly. 

“Give that to me,” Castiel said, amused.

Scowling, Lucifer pushed it over.

Castiel’s drawing wasn’t actually that much better, but it was passible. Too many legs, and the soul sucking jaws. “They’re dark and they’re silver at the same time,” Castiel told Sam and Dean. “It hurts the senses. We would attack them in legions.”

“Our top tier angels—those of us with sharpened feathers—were trained to kill them,” Lucifer said. Seraphs and Cherubs and even the Thrones had been trained, back in the day. Aziraphale would have fought them on his own, and Lucifer and Amenadiel certainly had. Lucifer remembered killing them. It hadn't been pretty. 

“Yes, but were they animals, or monsters, or like—beings from Before?” Sam asked him.

Clever kid. This vessel thing was so weird, because Lucifer had wondered exactly that, back in the day. He’d given it serious thought. “I asked Amara that, when I was young,” he said honestly. “She wouldn’t tell me. She said that if I knew, it would drive me mad. She said it had to do with Chaos.”

“Well, that’s promising,” Dean muttered.

“The legions used to say they were from the Empty,” Castiel muttered. “This was in the barracks, during resting times. They said that they wanted to claim the Silver City for their own.”

“Silver City?” asked Dean.

“The Ninth Sphere of Heaven,” said Castiel. “You visited the Fifth, when you were there[3].”

“Huh,” said Dean. “And it’s a city?”

“Silver spires as far as the eye can see,” drawled Lucifer, rolling his eyes. “All neat and orderly, everything in rows, not a creative thought for miles. _Boring._ ” He popped the B, glancing down at Chloe. She had a fascinated half-smile on her face.

“What’s Dis like?” she asked.

“It’s on a caldera,” he told her. “The lava rises with the tide. It’s awful really. Hell is terrible.”

“So—not the opposite of the Silver City?”

“LA is the opposite of the Silver City,” said Lucifer haughtily. It was true. LA was light and life and _interesting_. The Silver City was stagnation and ten thousand rules.

“So, all this means,” said Sam, loudly, clearly trying to get them back on track, “is that we need more information on Agnes, and what drove her to write the Book of the Damned. If there’s a connection between Agnes and Serge, we can use it to find the second book. We should have some of Charlie’s research notes.”

They settled down for the heavy-duty research, and the notes left behind by this Charlie, who was apparently dead and sorely missed. Boring. So boring. Even Chloe started perusing and reading the big heavy tomes. Lucifer tried to escape no less than eight times during the course of the afternoon, only to be pulled back by Chloe and once, memorably, by Castiel hissing at him like a big ugly swan.

“Uh—woah?” asked Dean, looking up, startled.

“Good thing!” chirped Chloe. “That’s an angel thing! Sit down, Lucifer, you’re being ridiculous.”

Lucifer glared at Castiel, affronted. Who on Earth did he think he was, anyway? Lucifer was a Seraph! Highest rank in Heaven, never mind his Fall! You didn’t hiss at your betters[4]!

Castiel glared at him out of his dead eyes. Rude.

Lucifer sat back down, grumbling. He hated research.

“Uh—what?” Sam asked.

“Angel thing,” echoed Dean slowly. “Chloe here’s fluent in angel—stuff. Apparently, Cas has been holding out on us.”

“I have not,” Castiel said irritably. “Much of it simply does not translate.”

Lucifer, pretending to read the book in front of him, burred at Castiel, because he was just _so cute,_ and his lie was _so bad._ Also, because Chloe was entirely comfortable with this sort of thing and even got the joke—she chuckled next to him, the best sound ever.

“I hate you,” Castiel told him, deadpan.

“ _Prrt,_ ” said Lucifer.

“Oh, hey, I know that one!” said Dean, startled and pleased. “You’re being an asshole!” he added to Lucifer, but his tone was one of delighted triumph rather than accusation.

Lucifer made the sound at him again, condescendingly. Chloe elbowed him, but she also laughed.

“It means ‘mm-hm,” she told Sam, amused. “Among other things.”

“We’re going to need to have a conversation,” said Sam to Chloe, a slow smile quirking his lips. “Also, Cas, you never did that stuff before?”

“I was attempting to be human,” Castiel muttered. “I’ve been reliably informed that it’s futile.”

“Well, you can’t be human _always,_ ” said Lucifer, flipping the page in his book scornfully[5]. “Bloody _exhausting,_ not to mention confusing.” He ran his finger down the page—and stopped short.

Mentions of a man losing his soul. Back up.

Footprints in the stone of Agnes’ abbey. Seven toes, two claws to each. Footprints suggest ten legs. That was familiar. Lucifer checked the date—a year before dear old Agnes went mad. Were they scoping it out?

“Detective,” he said softly, and the different tone made everyone else shut up. She leaned over to him, and he pointed to the description of the footprints. “Shadowbeast,” he murmured. “I’d know it anywhere.”

Chloe frowned. “Different universe, different rules---Castiel, how many toes does a shadowbeast have?”

Castiel blinked at her. “Seven toes. Ten legs. Two claws per toe[6].”

“Exactly the same as our world?” Chloe asked.

Lucifer nodded. “I don’t understand what you’re getting at.”

“Even angels are different between universes,” Chloe said. “Look at Castiel. He says he’s a Seraph, but he has one sharpened primary, not three. He’s high ranking enough for a carrier spell, anyway. But still—different, just a little. This shadowbeast though? You recognized it right off. Same description. They’re the same. No variations between universes. That’s odd.”

“Shadowbeasts come from Before,” said Lucifer slowly. “Before the universes were split, or made, or whatever it was Dad did. It makes sense that they would be the same.”

“Then whatever was sending them, whatever wrote the _Book_ ,” said Sam, slowly, “Might also be from Before. Unless there’s something else that might be able to control them?”

“Nobody can control them,” said Lucifer slowly and then added, “As far as I know. Dad always was secretive about the whole thing.”

“The Empty only wants to sleep,” said Castiel.

“The Empty’s not the only being that lived Before,” said Lucifer. “There were quite a few, all grappling for supremacy. I used to talk to them, sometimes.”

“Who are the others?” asked Sam.

“The Empty, of course,” said Lucifer, “And then there’s Chaos, but Chaos in the old sense—the Greeks got that one right. It’s the opposite of the Empty. The Empty is nothing. Chaos is everything all at once. It just—eats. It’s like a big black hole, but it mashes everything together, all mixed up. I only spoke to it once; it’s not really interested in speaking. It wants to eat, and there’s no fighting it or stopping it. We lost—legions and legions to Chaos, in the Beginning. 

The Water was another one, not much of a talker. Dad didn’t make the Water; it already existed. I tried to fly into it once, but there were—things in there, big and moving. I was young and alone, so I ran away from that, too. It laughed at me, as I recall—the Water. That was all I heard from it.

And then there was the Darkness, Dad’s sister. Amara. I liked her. I talked to her sometimes, though there were things in the Darkness, too. They liked to whisper. She frightened the other angels, but next to Chaos, the Empty, and the Water, the Darkness was downright friendly. And there was the Beyond, and—” the last didn’t have a very good translation. “The Before?” he tried. “Here and There? Siblings. One Near and one Far. Apologies, it doesn’t translate well. It’s—mathematical. It has to do with distance and space. Dad made _Up_ and _Down_[7]. But side to side already existed. The siblings were each side.”

“That’s—kind of fascinating,” Chloe said. “What were they like?”

“Whiny,” said Lucifer, smiling at her. “It’s difficult to—they complained in numbers, often about each other. I remember thinking that they were rather funny.”

“What happened to them?” This was Sam.

“Oh, they’re still out there, I expect,” said Lucifer, shrugging. “Out in the far reaches between worlds. They echo each other. I doubt this is them, though.” He frowned down at the book. “They were never—well, to be quite honest, they never particularly cared about angels _or_ humans.”

“This is kind of like an echo, though,” said Sam. “I mean. Across worlds.”

“Across _three_ worlds,” said Castiel. “Not two. We need more information.”

“Ugh,” said Dean. “Alright. I’m hungry. I’m going to leave the books to you nerds; I’m making dinner. And I’m checking on the kid. He’s been in his room way too long.”

Lucifer got to his feet. “I’ll make dinner,” he said, eager to be away from the books.

“Uh—” said Sam.

Chloe laughed. “He’s actually a good cook,” she said. “Really.”

“That’s—not what I’m concerned about,” said Sam.

“I’ll get Jack and we’ll make sure he doesn’t poison us,” said Dean, rolling his eyes.

“Poison you?” Lucifer blurted, affronted. “Why would I poison you? Never mind that it’s _terrible_ manners, but I actually need you if I’m ever going to find the last book so I can summon Mum!”

Castiel was suspiciously quiet. When Lucifer glared at him, he looked up and those stolen blue eyes twinkled with amusement.

Crowley was right. Castiel was absolutely a brat. Lucifer scowled at him.

“I’m making dinner,” he said, and swept out.

“Dean,” he heard Castiel say behind him, “I wish to be present when he first eats. Can you be certain he doesn’t taste anything in the kitchen?”

“Brat,” muttered Lucifer, and then realized that he had no idea where the kitchen was.

Jogging footsteps behind him: Dean had caught up with him. “Woah there, tiger,” said Dean, wry. “Let’s get Jack first, and then food, alright? I want to tell him what’s up, so he doesn’t freak out on you. This way.” He beckoned. Lucifer sighed, put upon, and followed.

“Your dead boyfriend is a brat,” he said, just to see Dean flush. It was terribly rewarding, really. Even the tips of his ears went red. He was a fetching fellow, Dean, if you liked all-American corn-fed flannel, and Lucifer wasn’t fussy. He lost points for his less than fun-sized schlong, though, because Lucifer doubted that he was creative enough to make up for something like that. And he had nothing on Chloe, or even on his brother Sam.

“Firstly, he's not dead. Secondly, please tell me there’s a better, I don’t know, angel term,” Dean muttered.

“Angels don’t do boyfriends,” said Lucifer cheerfully, enjoying the flinch more the second time. “No mates or companions or anything, unless you count your nest-mates, who are your brothers.”

“Thought all angels were brothers.”

“Yeah, well.” Lucifer made a see-saw motion with his hand. “Some are more brothers than others. Aziraphale and Crowley, for example, share a Mother and a Father but their ranks and their nests are wildly different, so it doesn’t completely freak me out.”

Dean made a grossed-out face. “What do they call each other?”

Lucifer snickered. “They’re terribly sappy, when they think people won’t understand them, you know. Aziraphale calls Crowley Sunshine. Sort of.”

Dean’s grossed-out face only deepened. “What do you call Chloe?”

It was a weird question. Lucifer called her _Detective,_ of course, because that was what she was; she was a detective, and a brilliant one. It was a title she had worked hard for, a title she was proud of. Of course, she was also _his_ Detective, so there was that. He called her _Chloe_ too, but that was soft and rare and precious and not up for discussion with someone like Dean. _Darling_ was his favorite for Chloe, frankly. Humans might call her his girlfriend and he went along with it, because there was nothing wrong with human terms. In fact, he rather liked them. _Girlfriend_ was such a shallow word, though, reducing Chloe to a girl and a friend all at once, and that was not even close to what she was. She was magnificent, and she’d let herself be his. His human. His favorite. His Chloe.

He hadn’t answered. He wasn’t sure.

Dean glanced at him thoughtfully before coming to a stop at a puke-green door in the subway-tiled hall. He knocked on it. “Jack?” he called.

“Go away!” said a voice from within.

“Yeah, sorry, not happening,” said Dean. “We’ve got some visitors, and we’re making dinner. If you’re gonna eat, you have to meet the new people because you’ll freak if you don’t. It’s really weird.”

There was a long pause. Then footsteps. Then the door peeked open.

On the other side was a kid, maybe seventeen or eighteen, blonde haired with gray-blue eyes. He had an incredibly serious face, and guilt practically oozed out of every orifice. Lucifer had seen a great many tortured souls in his time. This boy fit the bill.

Lucifer clucked his tongue, disapproving. Adam Young, of Daydream World, was a happy boy, who ran about Lower Tadfield with his friends and his dog, forever eleven, forever free. He had disowned Lucifer, it was true, but the boy led a _good_ life, even if it was a very long one, and that was a comfort. He was free from Lucifer, and from the worst of Lucifer’s legacy; Adam was no Prince of Hell. He was just a boy.

Nobody had let this boy simply be a boy. Lucifer could tell. There was a terrible burden on his shoulders and only suspicion in his eyes, which were red-rimmed like he’d been either very stoned or crying. Money was on crying, though stoned would have been appropriate; he did live in Nightmare World, after all. He was flinching away a little, too, and even just looking at him Lucifer could sense his broken heart.

This was unacceptable. He wasn’t Lucifer’s son. But he also kind of was. What had this wretched world done to this boy? What had the _Winchesters_ done to him, to break him so? He was absolutely younger than he looked. Just an eyas!

“Why,” Lucifer growled at Dean, “were you just letting this boy stew in his room, by himself, while we stared at books all night?”

“Listen dude, you don’t know half of the shit he’s been through,” Dean snapped. “He wants to stew, he can stew.”

“I know you,” said the boy, looking at Lucifer.

“Kind of,” said Lucifer. “I’m an alternate of the one you know. I’m different. Your father is Nightmare Lucifer. I am Daydream Lucifer.” It was weird phrasing it like that, but it was the truth.

The boy’s eyes went straight to Dean.

“He’s telling the truth,” said Dean. “And he _is_ different. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’ll vouch for him. He’s our Lucifer’s warmer, fuzzier cousin, from an alternate universe.”

“Hardly!” sniffed Lucifer.

“You literally just zoned out thinking about your girlfriend,” Dean drawled. “It was all over your face. You up for dinner, Jack? Fuzzy-Lucifer here wants to cook.”

Lucifer glared at him. He was not fuzzy!

Jack looked from Dean to Lucifer and back, and then slipped out the door. He wasn’t wearing socks. Lucifer clucked at him again.

“Your feet will get cold,” he said, before he could stop himself.

“That’s sweet,” said Dean.

“Shut up,” Lucifer muttered. 

Jack smiled at him, tentatively. He didn’t look like Adam, really, except for his coloration, but there was something of that other boy in his smile. Lucifer really, really didn’t like children.

Lucifer looked away, uncomfortable. “Kitchen?” he asked.

“Follow me,” Dean said, amused. He turned and led the way back down the hall.

\---------------------

[1] “You didn’t ask how he was?” asked Castiel, wounded and worried. “He’s injured, Lucifer!” Lucifer ignored him.

[2] Yeah, okay, he was starting to see Dean’s point. Nobody that bad at drawing could be evil, right?

[3] He badly wanted to add a tender “my Dean” there but Dean had yet to tell Sam and also, Lucifer was there, and Castiel was hardly going to give Lucifer the satisfaction. But Dean’s visitation to the Fifth Sphere—Sphere of Warriors, where many of his hunter friends resided—was something of a source of pride for Castiel. Only the best and the bravest could step foot there. Dean had, and more miraculously, he’d returned to Earth. Castiel knew Dean was remarkable, of course, but this underscored it. 

[4] You absolutely hissed at your betters; Lucifer was being an ass.

[5] If Linda had heard this statement, she would have smacked Lucifer with a rolled-up newspaper because this was exactly what Lucifer had been trying to do for nearly as long as she had known him.

[6] Yeesh, thought Dean.

[7] Well. Dad and the Hall of Being. Crowley had worked on _Up_ and _Down_ , too, as part of a huge team of angels. It was a tough concept.


	6. Chapter 6

Lucifer made risotto because their kitchen was pitifully understocked. They seemed to live on takeout and burgers, which was frankly appalling. There was an eyas! The Detective was always on about feeding her urchin the right amount of vegetables! Surely this child needed that too!

The boy was actually fairly impressed with the whole cooking thing. Lucifer had him measuring out chicken stock and milk and the like, because menial tasks were what children were for, and some of the red misery faded from his eyes. He watched Lucifer, not very subtle in his fascination, as they worked together.

“You’re different from my father,” he told Lucifer, stirring rice thoughtfully. “Everything is exactly the same, and everything is different. How is that possible?”

“Nothing is the same,” Lucifer muttered. “Your father was a psychopath.”

Dean, sitting at the table and watching them, barked a laugh. “He was totally a psychopath.”

Jack didn’t confirm this, but he didn’t contradict it either. “What changed?” Jack asked. “Between the two worlds, I mean. What made you—like this?” He sounded a little wistful.

Nightmare Lucifer, and whatever he did to this boy, was terrible, and not actually his problem. Lucifer launched into the whole Seraquael business instead of dwelling on it, and how their universes cascaded from one simple change in the Beginning. Dean was listening too, eyes sharp like a hunter, absorbing information he might need. Castiel clearly had never told him this, because Castiel was bloody useless.

He was just getting to the part about the Cage when he heard footsteps, and a beloved voice said, “Lucifer, that smells amazing!”

“Risotto, darling!” he called back, pleased to hear her approaching. “Their pantry was pitifully understocked, so this was all I could cobble together.”

“Oh, that’s _all_ ,” said Chloe. She slipped into the kitchen, all grace, and came right up to him, let him wrap an arm around her. “Looks great,” she said, peering into the pot.

“It does smell really good,” said Sam, following behind her. “I haven’t had risotto in I don’t know how long.”

“Heathen,” said Lucifer.

He caught Sam and Dean exchanging glances. Dean shrugged. “Not poisoned,” said Dean. “I’ve been watching.”

“Of course it’s not poisoned,” said Castiel, who had come in after Sam. “He’s Angel Network.”

Well, there was that, at least. Lucifer supposed Castiel wasn’t _that_ bad.

“What’s that?” asked Jack. He was standing on Lucifer’s other side, stirring the pot intently.

“Network of like-minded Celestials in Daydream World, plus Castiel.” Lucifer looked the boy up and down. “Don’t know if you count. You have the wings for it, but you’re, you know, an eyas.” He definitely had wings. Lucifer could tell, even if they were in another plane at the moment. He’d seen the state of Castiel’s wings, when he had arrived at the penthouse with Dean; this kid’s wings were probably in bad shape too.

“A young angel,” Castiel said to Jack, before he could ask. “You’re _my_ eyas.”

The boy smiled at Castiel. “I like that,” he said. 

Lucifer frowned at the the risotto. It looked ready. He motioned for Jack to stop stirring and took over himself. “Get everyone plates,” he told the boy. Children were good for ordering around, right? Chloe gave this task to Beatrice all the time.

Jack didn’t protest. Chloe watched him go and leaned against Lucifer, a line of welcome warmth along his side. She chuckled and caught his eye; she knew very well that he was thinking of Beatrice.

“You’re a terrible influence,” he told her.

“Really? I think I’m a great influence,” she replied. 

“I’m the King of Hell, you know,” said Lucifer, mock-haughty. “I’m above ordering children about.”

“Hadn’t noticed.” She reached up and brushed at his hair, fixing it, preening. He couldn’t quite stop the thrum. She smiled up into his eyes, bright and affectionate, and he wanted to melt into her arms right there. He could get lost in those eyes.

“What are they doing?” That was Jack.

Three voices shushed him, and Lucifer looked over to find two Winchesters, an angel, and a Nephilim goggling at him.

Lucifer made a disgusted sound. “What are you all looking at?”

“Dinner’s ready,” added Chloe, flushing a little. She grabbed oven mitts to protect her hands and then scooped up the pot.

The worst part of this ridiculous dinner was that Lucifer wasn’t expecting it to go wrong at all. What was there to even go wrong? It was just risotto, for Dad’s sake! They sat down to eat, all of them, and the hunters, after some hesitation, nibbled their food and exclaimed with delight at how good it was. The Nephilim boy ate his so fast it was like he was worried someone would take it away from him. It was pitiful, really.

Castiel had his dead eyes fixed on Lucifer. That was kind of weird. Until Lucifer finally tried some of the meal.

Amylose. Amylopectin. Way too many lipids—slimy in his mouth. Starch, starch, starch. Lucifer gagged.

“What—the Hell—” he wheezed.

“Lucifer?” Chloe asked, solicitous. She laid down her fork and put her hand on his arm. “Are you alright?”

Castiel snorted.

“What—the Hell—” Lucifer hissed again, this time specifically aimed at Castiel.

“The rules governing taste are different here,” Castiel said, eyes dancing. “At least for angels. I didn’t realize until I came back here after my first visit to your world. Most human food tastes like its components, rather than the symphony of flavors you might be used to in Daydream World.” He looked way too amused by this. He pushed his own plate away, delicately.

“The _components?_ ” Lucifer blurted. “I don’t want to taste _amylose_ ; I want to taste the bloody risotto! What the Hell? Why is your world so _terrible_?”

Castiel looked like he was restraining himself from cackling. “Alcohol still has some flavor, if you like fermentation.”

“There isn’t a truce here, right? I’m going to kill you,” snarled Lucifer.

The humans looked concerned, and the Nephilim looked downright alarmed, but Castiel didn’t. Apparently unable to contain it anymore, he let out a peal of laughter. His humans and his eyas relaxed.

“You just pulled a prank on me, didn’t you, you brat?” Lucifer spluttered. “Crowley is so right about you!”

“You seriously just pranked him?” hissed Dean. “I _love_ you!”

Castiel smirked, but he spared two beats of a thrum for Dean, because he was a lovesick fool, just like the rest of them[1]. Must’ve been true love, too, Lucifer thought sourly, given Dean’s itsy bitsy teeny weeny absolutely micro peeny.

“So, you—can’t taste the food,” Chloe said. She stoked his arm lightly. 

Lucifer pushed his plate away in disgust. “I can, just not in a good way.” Chemical components were rather disgusting.

“But you won’t kill him,” said Jack, still worried.

“No, I’m not going to kill him,” Lucifer muttered. “I’m going to steal his flight feathers and feed them to the worms in the Eighth Circle. There are dreadful beasts in the Styx; they’ll eat feathers. I’ve got dungeons in Circle Nine that’ll hold you—”

“No, you won’t,” Castiel interrupted. Bastard. “I’m Angel Network. You won’t touch me.” And he smirked, way too confident.

“Islington’s Cage,” Lucifer threatened.

“There’s a way out.”

“You don’t know it.”

“It leads to the British Museum. The Angelus.”

“My Cage!”

“Has a hole at the top where you picked the lock.” His smirk only widened.

“Why did Crowley have to pick a _strategist_!” wailed Lucifer, slumping back into his chair. 

Chloe patted his arm, not very sympathetic. “Well,” she said, “The risotto’s delicious, anyway.”

“Don’t rub it in,” Lucifer told her, aggrieved.

She chuckled. “But you’ll be alright, not eating?” She didn’t sound that concerned, he thought resentfully[2].

Lucifer scowled at his plate. “Yeah, I’ll be fine.” Oh, no. What if _Chloe_ tasted like her components? “Wait,” he said, alarmed, “Quick! Kiss me! I need to know if _you’re_ ruined too!”

“Lucifer,” she said, shaking her head. “Later.”

“But _Detective,_ this is urgent!”

“Later.”

“I don’t understand,” said Jack.

Sam was giggling silently[3]. “When you’re older,” he managed. “Are they all like this?” he asked Dean. “Angel Network, I mean.”

“Crowley and Aziraphale are worse,” said Castiel fondly. “They fight over bread. It is—endearing. Amenadiel likes to play games.”

“Amenadiel’s a prat,” Lucifer said. “And so is Michael.”

“Michael was really weird,” said Dean. “Like, sit in the grass and commune with God weird.”

Lucifer snorted. “He gets into fights with bulls and lampposts. He’s an idiot.”

“Yeah, I gotta see this world,” said Sam, amused. He ate some more of his risotto. Lucifer was very jealous. He also wanted to eat the risotto.

Chloe ended up with what remained of Lucifer’s meal, and after, after dinner, after everything, she pulled him down gently to bed in their room, and she kissed him, slow and sweet and she tasted of potassium and magnesium and calcium, but she also tasted of Chloe, and that was enough to go on.

Lucifer curled close, and closer still to the solace of her skin. She soothed sleepy fingers down his sides when she couldn’t preen his feathers, and goosebumps rose in her wake. Chloe sighed, deep and content, and Lucifer found himself echoing her and relaxing. There was no sleep for angels in this weird universe, but it was worth it, just to have her warm body resting near his, trusting and soft.

…. He also realized that his libido was totally shot here and almost woke her, yelling, but restrained himself. _Damn_ this universe!

\-------------------

[1] Sam was shoveling food in his mouth, trying not to react. What even was Daydream World, that it had Dean spouting I Love Yous after like, three days? And why was Cas vibrating? He needed to corner Dean and make him explain so badly.

[2] Of course she wasn’t concerned. Crowley had told her multiple times that eating was lovely but not necessary for Celestials. Besides, Castiel was clearly fine without eating. She was pretty bad at supernatural stuff, but even she could see that. Still, it was worth asking, just to be sure.

[3] He was very surprised about it, but he was laughing. Nightmare Lucifer had never been funny before! Or at least, never harmlessly funny. He’d always had that awful edge to him, that malice. This one had a sweetness that the other didn’t. Maybe he really was different.


	7. Chapter 7

It took three hellish days in this awful place before they found anything worth going on. The Winchesters' library was surprisingly vast, and though it was organized it was rather overwhelming. Though irritating, Castiel’s boys were admittedly impressive. They knew where to start, and they knew where to cross reference and they uncovered Agnes’ life story with surprising patience and diligence.

Crowley sent them information about Serge periodically as well. Small details as Aziraphale recalled them, mostly. Mostly it was baffling things, things like lineages and locations, pilgrimages and information about heirlooms. Lucifer would have frankly tossed it all out as useless, but Chloe, of course, made a connection at last. He would expect nothing less; strip away the supernatural, and this was exactly the sort of thing she excelled at.

“You said there’s—gates,” she said slowly, one afternoon. “To Heaven and Hell.”

“Yeah,” said Sam. He looked up from the giant tome he was reading. “There’re two Devil’s gates in Wyoming that we know of. Why?”

“And in our world?” Chloe asked, and Lucifer shrugged.

“Yes. There’s one in Sunnyvale, California, and another just outside LA, as well as the door in London Below. What have you found, darling?” Lucifer leaned forward, eager to see. Chloe was the best detective he knew; surely, she had found something terribly clever.

“And Heaven,” she said, “There’s gates to that too?”

“They’re mostly blocked in our world, but yes,” said Lucifer.

“There is one here,” said Castiel. “It’s in a playground.”

Chloe nodded. “Purgatory?” She tapped a book in front of her, which was clearly where she'd got that term.

“Yes,” said Lucifer. “Though I believe Nathaniel sealed it, some time ago.”

“It’s not tied to a particular place here,” Castiel agreed. He exchanged a glance with Dean, something that was probably meaningful. “And it stays closed, unless one deliberately opens it. But it does exist.”

“This—” she tapped the book front of her again, “Says that there’s—good places for these things to be opened or made.”

“Sometimes the veil is thin,” Sam explained. “It can be different for different places.”

“What sort of place could support a doorway like that?” asked Chloe. “Because, look—Agnes spent two years—she was three and four—in Brittany. And Serge, too—he was three and four, according to Crowley. Neither of them was born there, and neither stayed. The city plans between universes seem to be different, but they lived within—half a mile of each other? Less?”

“You think there was a gate there,” Sam said, eyes gleaming. “And it influenced them, at the same time, across universes.”

“Just a theory,” Chloe said. “But so far this is the best connection I can find.”

“Then we need a map of the ley lines in Brittany,” said Lucifer, jumping to his feet. “That’ll show us where the veil might be thin, or where different worlds might connect. This is brilliant, detective! Crowley can find us one for Daydream World.” He snatched up a bit of parchment.

_Crowley, I need a detailed map of the ley lines in Brittany. We have a lead!_

“ _Zephyr Favonous_!” called Lucifer. “ _Habeo nuntium_!”

And there was Zephyr, with its silver wings. A warm breeze accompanied it, stirring the papers. It danced in a little circle, and it gave Lucifer a baleful eye. At last it snatched up the letter, and then, to Lucifer’s surprise, it flitted and fluttered and alighted on Sam, wings whispering and folding.

Sam couldn’t see it of course, but he did shiver a little. He could definitely feel it. “Uh—”

“Zephyr is around your shoulders,” Castiel said. “ _Zephyr, quid est?_ ” he added, a little low, a little protective. 

“ _Tuum hominum non nocebit, stultus!_ ” laughed Zephyr. “ _Ludo! Sam Winchester: Virgo modesta nimis legem bene servo pudoris; Ore procax non sum, nec sum temeraria linguae; ultro nolo loqui, sed do responsa loquenti_.”

“Oh!” Sam laughed, abruptly relaxing. “I’ve read that one! It’s an echo!”

Zephyr laughed, clearly charmed. It vanished.

“Dude, did the West Wind seriously just ask you a personal riddle?” Dean said.

Sam shrugged.

“It had so many wings!” Jack added, delighted. He was sitting at the table too, presumably helping though he had been mostly silent and moody. “Why so many?”

“I don’t know,” said Castiel. “You should ask it when it returns. You can practice your Latin.”

Jack crinkled his nose.

“Didn’t inherit that gift of tongues, huh?” Lucifer asked. “That’s unfortunate.”

“Gift of tongues?” asked Jack.

“I can speak any language,” said Lucifer, shrugging. “Even the dead ones.”

“That would be useful,” said the boy, all wide eyes.

“Anyway,” Dean added. He smacked an overlarge, dusty book down on the table. Lucifer waved the dust away and made a face. “Ley lines. Sam, where the Hell is Brittany?”

“I got it,” Sam sighed, rising. He flipped through the pages of Dean's book. “Here.” He squinted. “Nothing really significant here?”

Chloe sat back, disappointed.

The room went cold, and Boreas dropped some parchment rolled around something, rather disdainfully. Chloe unwrapped the package.

_I photocopied it from one of Aziraphale’s books. Don’t tell him; he’ll murder me **[1]**. Crowley. _

Reading over Lucifer’s shoulder, Chloe chuckled fondly. They _were_ rather funny, that angel and that demon. “Here,” she said. “What do you think?” She passed the printout to Sam.

“Hmm,” said Sam. “Well—they’re different. That’s weird, but I guess different universes, right. Hang on, we have this like ancient overhead projector; I think it’s from World War Two—hang on—” Sam raced out of the room.

“I have no idea what he’s talking about,” said Dean blithely.

Lucifer exchanged a shrug with Chloe.

Sam came back hauling this prehistoric, wood-and-brass thing that stood on one leg with three supports. Making the maps into slides or that clear plastic whatever took forever – Sam literally traced them by hand – a time during which Lucifer tried unsuccessfully to distract Chloe and Chloe tried unsuccessfully to concentrate. She was grinning and swatting him by the time Sam got it set up though, so, mission accomplished.

“Look,” said Sam, once the whole mess was finished. Chloe had aged like three years while Sam was messing around; didn’t these Winchesters know that Chloe was mortal and therefore that her time was precious? So inconsiderate. Lucifer scooted his chair closer to her to see.

Jack turned off the lights, and Sam laid down one rendering of the ley lines of Brittany. “So, this is our world—Nightmare World. And here’s your world—Daydream World.” He laid down the other sheet.

The ley lines around Brittany were wildly different. In Nightmare World they were in the upper right corner, while in Daydream World, the upper left. Except for one. Well, two.

Between the two universes, there were two lines that intersected, forming a very steep X: one side with wide, obtuse angles and the other with narrow, acute ones.

“Now, here’s where Agnes lived,” said Sam, and he drew a red dot in one of the acute angles. “And here’s Serge.” Another red dot, in that same angle.

“Well, that’s promising,” said Lucifer.

“I think you’re right, Chloe,” said Castiel gravely. “There probably is a gate there. Not Heaven, not Hell—those differ between universes. The only thing that is the same, across universes is—”

“The Empty,” said Lucifer, his stomach plummeting to his knees. Surely it couldn't be that. Surely not. Why would the Empty summon shadowbeasts, drive two humans mad, write three books in three universes? That made no sense. 

“But the Cosmic Entity is uninterested,” Castiel added, expressing Lucifer's thoughts exactly. He sounded uncertain, though.

“They dreamed of darkness,” said Lucifer, “didn’t they? Serge and Agnes.”

“That’s what it says,” said Chloe, tapping on one of the books on the table.

Lucifer closed his eyes and groaned, the pieces coming together into a different shape in his mind. “Oh, but it’s obvious,” he said. Shadowbeasts. Of course. “Not darkness. The human mind would see it as darkness, but it’s not, not really. It’s the opposate. It's everything all at once, endless hunger, the maw that gapes—”

“Chaos,” breathed Castiel. His eyes widened with dread. 

“Chaos,” agreed Lucifer. “Father threw Chaos into the Empty, at the dawn of time. Presumably to sleep. As far as I know, it is still sleeping.”

“It was when I was there,” Castiel said. “The Shadow’s first impulse—Lucifer—the Shadow’s first impulse when I woke up was to put me _back to sleep._ ”

“So, if Chaos woke up, say, sometime in the fourteenth century,” said Sam, “And tried to get out, and failed—”

“And the Shadow put it back to sleep—” Dean added.

“Then the _Book of the Damned_ , across three worlds, might be its escape plan,” said Castiel, horrified. “Chaos is damned as surely as you are, Lucifer. And it knows more of the old magic, too. It's very capable of writing such a book.”

“Thanks for that,” Lucifer drawled. “But you’re right. Was there a war in Brittany, around this time? Or a natural disaster or something Chaos-y?”

“War of Breton Succession,” said Chloe, right away. She’d googled it on Sam’s laptop. “Fourteenth century.”

“Awesome,” drawled Dean. “Whatever. You’re all nerds. What does that mean for us, now, in normal English? Chaos sounds _bad._ ”

“There was a plague, too,” said Chloe, still reading. She missed Dean making a face and then Sam elbowing Dean, but Lucifer didn’t. Dean definitely deserved that. “Ah—but look.” She picked up the laptop and walked over to the projector. “It didn’t touch—here.” She took Sam’s pen, and drew a slow red line, connecting the acute angle of the X into a triangle. “Right in here. This whole triangle was immune.”

Oh, she was the best, cleverest human alive and Lucifer loved her. “Brilliant,” he breathed. “You’re brilliant. That’s a ley line. The third book will be in the world that has that ley line.”

“Ah, question,” said Sam. “If these books have some link to Chaos, are we at risk for catching its attention?”

Chloe’s eyes shot to Lucifer uneasily. He shook his head at her gently: that was not a concern, but Castiel spoke before he could.

“Chaos is asleep, Sam,” Castiel said. “We shall modify the spell; we have no intention of waking it. Yes?” He looked at Lucifer. He didn't seem alarmed. Lucifer wasn't either, really. Changing a spell was not exactly difficult. 

“Of course,” said Lucifer, though more to Chloe than to anyone else. She seemed only marginally reassured. “It might not even be Chaos anyway; that’s just speculation.” They didn’t care so much about Chaos, if it even were Chaos. This had all happened centuries ago, and, as Castiel said, they were modifying the spell anyway to find Mum. They could scratch out all mention of whatever or whoever had written it in the first place. What they _did_ care about was the third world, and this was the best lead they had.

Sam and Dean exchanged an uneasy look, but they seemed to come to some sort of conclusion.

“We can triangulate it,” Sam said softly, after a moment.

Castiel added, “ _Lucifer, it’s a sea star, isn’t it?_ ” That was in Enochian; he was referring to a certain kind of mathematical equation, the kind that was radially symmetrical like a starfish—in this case several universes, and several planes. They could use that to calculate where this other universe was.

Of course it was a bloody sea star; why hadn’t Lucifer thought of that? He didn’t do sea creatures, or radial symmetry. He did _actual_ stars. Sea stars were rubbish.

“Yes,” he replied in English. “It is. We should be able to get coordinates by tonight. Breaking through is going to be an issue, though. And once we’re through, how do we find the book?”

“Leave that to us,” said Dean. “Get cracking on those coordinates.”

Lucifer scowled. Math. Oh, bloody Hell.

\-------------------------

[1] For getting out of bed, going to London, stealing a book, AND subjecting that book to a photocopy machine!!!!! Not that Crowley had flown there; his wings were still screwed, but a snap of the fingers would do. Still. Death by flaming sword awaited him if they told Aziraphale.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation of the riddle, as requested: 
> 
> "Tuum hominum non nocebit, stultus!” laughed Zephyr. “Ludo! Sam Winchester: Virgo modesta, nimis legem bene servo pudoris; Ore procax non sum, nec sum temeraria linguae; ultro nolo loqui, sed do responsa loquenti
> 
> "I will not hurt your human, stupid," laughed Zephyr. "I play! Sam Winchester: A modest maid, too well I serve the law of decency; I am not imprudent with speech nor rash of tongue; unaided I do not speak, but I give response to who speaks."
> 
> Also, "Habeo nuntium" means "I have a message."


	8. Chapter 8

Oh, _bloody Hell._

Equations were boring. Equations had always been boring, and they had been the worst part of making stars. Paperwork and reports, mass and luminosity ratios, _ugh_ Lucifer had just wanted to make his art and be left alone. This equation wasn’t even a cosmic equation. It was a _bloody starfish_. The indignity.

Also, the only way to articulate the damned equation properly was in Enochian, and Lucifer disliked speaking in Enochian, just on general principle. He did it with Crowley sometimes, but Crowley _got it;_ he understood Earth and Heaven and Hell the way no other Celestial did.

Furthermore, Castiel’s accent was obnoxious. Damned Nightmare World.

The only redeeming feature was Chloe, who stayed by his side in fascinated silence as he and Castiel argued about the particulars and slowly came up with a matrix. It was hard in two dimensions, but Hell if Lucifer was going to do a miracle and Castiel seemed similarly disinclined, so they were limited to several sheets of paper, intricately numbered and sketched upon. It was messy work.

Chloe was even clever enough to spot a mistake – not in their math, because she couldn’t read Enochian, but in an ambiguous, sloppy symbol sketched out in a hurry. Lucifer kissed the top of her head, overcome with her brilliance. She smiled at him.

It really did take hours. The humans and the Nephilim got hungry and left at one point, leaving Lucifer to argue with Castiel in Enochian about the golden ratio and fractals and various other nonsense. Bloody unbearable. They were at it well into the night.

But the result was worth it. It was an elegant equation, for all that it was named after an echinoderm. It was beyond most humans—you had to be able to visualize and spin it like a globe, except in this case all their variables were alternate worlds, instead of countries. They got there in the end.

Coordinates for a world that had a ley line where they needed it to be, or near enough. There was only one, as it turned out, that intersected the other two lines just right. Now of course the problem was finding one little book on a whole other world—possibly a hostile world.

Or even a dead world. Dad had been destroying universes, after all. How did anyone find anything on a dead world?

That was a concern for tomorrow.

“I’m going to sleep,” said Lucifer in English, very finished with speaking in Enochian.

“You won’t be able to sleep here,” Castiel replied in kind.

“Well, then I’m going to lie next to the Detective,” Lucifer said, irritable. His libido was still shot to Hell, but Chloe was waiting for him, sleepy and welcoming; he could still be near her, right?

Castiel blinked, startled. “That’s an option?”

“Of course, it’s an option! Where have you been?”

Castiel squinted at him. “Dean does not—snuggle.”

Lucifer grimaced at the word choice, but he didn’t deny it. “Word of advice, Pigeon: Guys lie about that sort of thing, especially guys like Dean.”

Castiel’s eyes brightened, and Lucifer realized belatedly that he’d called him Pigeon. Ugh. Fine. He was still Angel Network, after all. Lucifer was totally getting him a new body though because this Jimmy thing was creepy. Mum had been creepy, but somehow this was a whole new level, even though it was essentially the same thing. At least she’d given the body back in the end.

“I will try it,” Castiel said, determined.

“You do that,” muttered Lucifer, and started down the hall.

Chloe was indeed asleep, but she did her funny human-thrum for him when he climbed into bed with her. It made something in his chest go warm, that she’d learned how to do that just for him. She curled up on his chest, trusting and golden and choosing to be all his own. That choice, again and again, still made his heart pound. He could have suggested sex, he really could have—just because he couldn’t get it up, didn’t mean that he didn’t have hands or a mouth; he was very clever—but she didn’t seem to care, one way or the other. And that was still kind of novel, even after a few years, affection without sex. Not that they weren’t scorching hot together, because they absolutely were, but this was—nice.

He kissed her nose because he could. She grumbled, and he thrummed, pleased that she was near.

“Didja get it?” she murmured into his chest.

“ _Prrt_ ,” he said, because he could, because she got it, because it wasn’t a Heaven sound anymore; it didn’t have to be. It was just a Celestial sound, natural as existing, and he knew she liked it when he did things like that.

“Whassa world?” She yawned and nestled closer. He snuck in a friendly grope, and she squeezed his upper thigh right back. Oh, he loved her.

“No name yet,” he murmured. “It’s got humans though. Pretty sure.”

Her hand rubbed his belly, slow and relaxing. He sighed, sinking forward to rest his nose in her sweet-smelling hair.

“Waking world,” she murmured. “No nightmares, no daydreams. Or maybe sleepy world.” She yawned again.

“You’re sleepy world,” Lucifer replied at a whisper. “Go back to sleep. I’ll be here when you wake.”

She chuckled and proceeded to do exactly that. He felt kind of a weird stirring of arousal—confused, mostly. Not gone, he realized, delighted. It was just different, here. Oh, that was _weird_. It was kind of detached, more of a simmer and less of a burn. So: get used to the weirdness of Nightmare World, even though he hated Nightmare World, or don’t have sex until they returned to Daydream World?

Ugh, bad choices all around. Maybe Chloe would help him figure this out. That could be a fun experiment.

But his human was sleepy, and warm and soft, so he let her rest. He drowsed, not quite asleep but relaxed and content at her side. He thrummed at her the rest of the night.

When she woke, she gave him another friendly grope, and they tried it out, actual lovemaking in a weird alternate world. Real lovemaking, which was different from sex—he hadn’t known that ‘til Chloe had shown him, in the best possible way, and he _loved it._ It was good for her—he made absolutely sure of it; he would settle for nothing less—but it was bloody weird for him, all detached and empirical.

Though the mushy feelings-y part of it was good, so there was that. Kisses were still good, Chloe’s gasping breaths were still _the best thing_. She whispered that she loved him in his ear, again and again and in a hundred different ways. She said that he was an ass and _get over here_ and _Lucifer!_ and she laughed her golden laugh, and it set his heart aflame. She was so gentle with him it _hurt,_ because he was made of stern stuff, but he liked the gentleness, and she knew it. So really, it was good.

The orgasm itself was terrible though, frankly. This universe was appalling. Poor Castiel; had he been living like this? Well. Given Dean’s tiny little problem, maybe he didn’t know any better. How terrible.

Lucifer told Chloe all about it as they got dressed. “It wasn’t _you_ , darling; you’re perfect, and you know we’re scorching together. It’s this bloody world. Even the orgasms are bad!”

Chloe was laughing a little, unsympathetic. “I don’t know, Lucifer; mine was good.” She smirked, impish.

“Well of course it was! I wasn’t about to let you have a less than stellar experience,” he huffed. “Besides, nothing’s changed for _you_. The rules here must be different. It’s as though I’m less physical.” He bounced on the balls of his feet, testing it. “Ugh. Terrible.”

“Because you don’t have one of those vessels?”

“Do _you_ want to have sex with me in Sam Winchester?” Lucifer scowled.

Chloe snorted. “Lucifer.”

“I mean, he’s lovely, darling, but consent is important in these matters and I don’t think he’ll—”

She laughed. “No! Not at all! That’s just—so wrong!”

“As I keep saying—can’t trust a man inside another man without consent.”

“Why is this world so weird?” Chloe said. She put on her shirt, more’s the pity.

“World of nightmares.” Lucifer buttoned his cuffs. “Shall we?” He offered her his arm.

She smiled at him and took it. “We’ll get you a better orgasm when we get home,” she murmured, low and soft, like it was a secret between them. She was like that about sex—always their secret. He’d thought it irritating at first, but then he started to understand—she shared it with _him_ , only him, and it made him feel about ten feet tall. 

“I’d like that,” he murmured, and swept them out the door.

On the other side was Jack, wide-eyed and awkward. He stared at them.

“Can I help you?” Lucifer asked, snide. Chloe pinched him.

“I can open a gate to the other world,” the boy blurted. “But Billie says it might attract attention.”

“Ah, well, let’s not upset the psychopomp,” Lucifer said. He tried to sweep past, but Chloe wouldn’t let him. 

“We have to pinpoint where the book is, first, Jack,” she said gently. “Let’s cross that bridge when we get to it, alright?”

“That’s the thing,” said Jack, vibrating with eagerness. “Sam thinks he has an idea. But there’s a problem.” He shifted from foot to foot.

“Well? Out with it!” said Lucifer. Chloe hissed at him, a decent but slightly off-kilter angel impression.

“The world’s been destroyed,” said Jack, eyeing Chloe with some surprise. “That indicates displeasure, doesn’t it? The—” he hissed. Apparently, his angel-side was strong enough to pull something like that off, though he didn’t have the socialization to really understand it.

Lucifer eyed him. “Yes. Hasn’t Castiel taught you that?”

Jack shook his head. “He wanted me to be human?”

“Idiot,” Lucifer muttered. He frowned. “Has he fixed your wings at all?”

“They’re not broken,” said the boy.

Chloe winced next to him. 

“CASTIEL!” Lucifer thundered. He gave Chloe’s hand a reassuring squeeze before storming out into their little war room. “Castiel Quintaferia!” 

Castiel was sitting at that map-table with his boys. They all looked at Lucifer.

“Quinta-what?” asked Dean.

“Epithet. It means _of the fifth day_ ,” Castiel said, puzzled. “Just as ‘Morningstar’ isn’t actually Lucifer’s last name. Angels don’t have last names. They have mostly arbitrary epithets.”

“Why,” hissed Lucifer, resting his palms on the far end of the table and letting his eyes glow, just a little[1], “have you not taught that boy how to preen?”

“Wait—woah, what?” Dean blurted, swinging to Castiel, who seemed to be sinking in his chair.

“Question,” said Sam.

“He should have had you there plucking at his down!” snapped Lucifer. “What did you do when his primaries grew in? Leave him to suffer?”

“I was dead!” snapped Castiel. “He grew up very quickly; he never had a nest—”

“ _He never had a nest?_ ” Lucifer thundered.

“He seemed more human than angel!” Castiel added loudly.

“Because he’s half human, you absolute moron! No wonder he’s all messed up—no nest! Did he have a, a—Chloe, darling, what do human offspring have when they are first born? Where do you place them when you want them to be safe?”

“A crib?” said Chloe. She'd followed him into the room, of course. She looked kind of astonished. The detective took such good care of her own urchin. This was probably as shocking to her as it was to him.

“Did he have one of those?” Lucifer demanded.

“Yes,” said Castiel. “But he never used it. He outgrew it just as he was born. He made himself grow up. He was neither eyas nor child when I met him, after the Empty spat me out.”

“He is both eyas _and_ child,” Lucifer snapped. “Just because he looks mature doesn’t mean he is! You have been neglecting his wings. Where do you sleep, child? Do you sleep?”

Jack had followed him into the war room, too, bewildered. “I sleep a little,” he said. “Not very much. I have a room here.” This was said with some pride. Of course, Lucifer already knew this.

“Does it feel secure?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Do you feel like you could fall out of it?” Lucifer snapped.

“Dude, we’re underground,” said Dean.

“I—” Jack looked from Dean to Lucifer. “I dream, sometimes. That I’m falling through the floor?”

Lucifer glared at Castiel, whose eyes had gone huge and round.

“Jack, you should have said something!” he said, horrified.

“It’s not a big deal,” said Jack. “It’s just a dream.”

“It’s a very big deal!” Lucifer snapped. “You’ll never learn to balance your wings if you spend your time as an eyas on unsteady ground! No wonder you’re depressed!”

Castiel got to his feet. “I didn’t realize you needed one. We’re making you a nest,” he said. “Now. Right now. Come on, Jack.”

Lucifer crossed his arms and harrumphed. That was more like it. He watched Castiel usher the confused boy out of the room and back down the hall.

“What just happened?” Sam asked.

“I think Cas just got schooled by our resident archangel,” Dean drawled. He raised an eyebrow at Lucifer. “Any idea how we can do the preening thing without burning out our eyes?”

“That’s a this universe problem,” Lucifer said haughtily[2].

“Preening thing?” Sam spluttered.

“Yeah, apparently Cas is an idiot. No surprise there,” Dean said, but there was affection there. “Angels need to be preened. They get all depressed and weird otherwise, which kind of explains a lot of Cas’ terrible decisions.”

“Seriously?” said Sam.

“Seriously.”

“Why didn’t he tell us?” To Sam’s credit, he did seem genuinely distressed.

“Because he’s an idiot,” muttered Lucifer. “But anyway. The eyas said you had an idea of where the book is in this other world.”

“He also said the other world was destroyed?” Chloe came up alongside Lucifer, frowning.

“Yes to both,” said Sam. “We can work with a destroyed universe—there’re a few time travel spells that we can build into the doorway. And in this other world—Well, I did a preliminary searching spell, you know, for anything damned. It’ll turn up anything, and it’s long-range so it’s not the best but—I found a hotspot. A really hot hotspot. Desecrated ground. I think for a first look, it’s a good place to start.”

“You want to run out unprepared into a place so deeply damned it shows up on an interdimensional spell?” Lucifer spluttered. “Are you out of your mind?”

“Probably,” said Dean, “But it’s what we got. You in?”

Lucifer was in. He looked down to Chloe. “I don’t think—” he started. He didn’t like the idea of leaving her alone in Nightmare World at all. But he liked the idea of taking her to a potentially damned hellscape even less.

“You can stay with me, Chloe,” Sam said. “I’ll need to maintain the spell, and help would be nice.” He smiled at her.

Chloe thought about this. “What’s on the other side?” she asked.

“We don’t know,” said Sam.

“It would be safer if you do not come, darling,” Lucifer murmured.

She looked at him long and hard, weighing the pros and cons in the way that she did. She was clearly loath to leave him alone; he was loath to leave her alone too. But if they were going to go Elsewhere, if he was going to go Elsewhere, then it would be best if he were at full strength, and not vulnerable.

In fact:

“It might be best if you all stayed here,” Lucifer said slowly. “Castiel and I are the two most durable.”

“Yeah, I don’t think so, dude,” said Dean.

“Where I am from,” Lucifer said stiffly, “We do not throw our humans into danger if we don’t have to.”

“Yeah, well, here, we’re hunters. We’re not your usual human,” snapped Dean. “We’re going.”

\--------------------------

[1] But he stopped when he saw how Sam’s face went white, visibly terrified.

[2] Not really. Chloe was very worried about this, as more time went on.


	9. Chapter 9

“I can’t _believe_ we’re not going,” Dean scowled.

“They’re kind of right, Dean,” Sam said, apologetic. “We have no idea what’s on the other side. It could be like—Jupiter, for all we know. A big gas giant.”

“You’re a big gas giant,” Dean mumbled.

“Anyway,” said Chloe, rolling her eyes. “How do we do this?”

“We’ll need some of Lucifer’s Grace,” said Sam. “An Archangel’s Grace. Not a lot but—” he shrugged.

Lucifer looked at Sam. He looked at Sam long and hard, and he felt that pull, phantom, in his heart. The thing was—he liked Sam. He liked Sam a lot, far more than was natural. It felt like some sort of affinity, but there wasn’t a reason behind it. At the start he’d been intrigued by Chloe; he’d thought she was interesting, fascinating. Sam felt like they’d skipped that initial year and were already bosom-buddies, except they weren’t. He wanted, very badly, to trust him. It was creepy.

He looked to Castiel, who at least was Angel Network.

“He’s not lying,” said Castiel softly. “And it isn’t very much.”

Lucifer nodded. “Very well,” he said.

“What’s Grace?” Chloe asked.

“Some of my essence?” Lucifer said. “It’s like a liver; vital but it grows back[1].”

“So, you’re saying major surgery,” Chloe said, now very displeased.

“It won’t look major to you,” Lucifer sighed.

“That doesn’t make it any less dangerous,” Chloe told him, reaching out to rest her hand on his arm. “Is there another way to do this? Jack said he could, didn’t he?”

“Jack might draw the wrong sort of attention if he does that,” Castiel said.

“Not if I’m here,” said Chloe, triumphant. “I block it, remember? G—your Dad can’t come near me.” Still couldn’t say the G word, Lucifer thought fondly. “You’ll need your strength, Lucifer,” she added.

“What do you mean, you block it?” Sam demanded.

“I’m immune to angels,” Chloe said. “Except Amenadiel. I—uh, Him Above He can’t—He can’t tear down the universe as long as I’m here. That’s why I came, you know. My daughter is back home, keeping that world safe. I’m here, so I can keep this world safe.” She shrugged.

Sam gaped. “Dean?” he said.

“They did say that in Daydream World, yeah,” Dean said.

“I can do it,” said Jack. He was standing in the threshold of the hall, wrapped up in a green blanket. It draped over his hair to his forehead and around his shoulders, so he looked like a walking cocoon. He wasn't wearing shoes, but he had on socks, at least. They were white. 

“Jack,” murmured Castiel. “I thought you were in your room.”

“I like the nest very much,” Jack said from within his blanket. “It’s much better than just the bed, though I liked the bed too. But I don’t have to sleep in a nest. It’s just soft and good. Thank you.”

Castiel swallowed. Guilt splashed in vivid color across his face; Lucifer knew the look. He rolled his eyes. Idiot angel. How he’d ever survived in this dreadful world was a complete mystery. Clearly, Castiel belonged in a nest of his own somewhere in the vicinity of Aziraphale’s book shop.

“I’m glad you like it,” Castiel said, raspy. “I was not aware that you needed it—I am sorry.”

Jack shrugged. “I can open your door,” he said. He adjusted his blanket. “Like you said—if Chloe’s here, I should be safe.” He smiled warmly at Chloe. “I can feel it, you know. When she’s nearby. It feels safe.”

It definitely did feel safe, but Lucifer wasn’t going to encourage the boy. Chloe was _his_ human. “Do you know where you’re going?” he asked.

Jack rustled around in his blanket and then held up one of the papers upon which Lucifer and Castiel had scribbled their equations. “Here,” he said, pointing to the Enochian.

“How do you speak Enochian but not Latin?” Lucifer demanded.

The boy shrugged. 

“Alright,” said Lucifer. “Open the gate, then.”

“Woah, hold on—” spluttered both the Winchesters, out of synch, but too late. Lucifer watched, fascinated, as Jack opened up a tear in the universe.

Jack’s tear was far more controlled than Islington’s tears had been. He didn’t scratch and claw with his fingernails. He didn’t bleed. The crack wasn’t dark and polluted; instead, it shone gold, bright as anything, and it didn’t spider out like lightning either. It was a long, thin, shining line in reality.

“Elegantly done,” said Lucifer, impressed.

Jack beamed at him. “It goes back in time too, a little, because that universe is dead.” He sounded proud. Lucifer didn’t really know what to do with that, except to awkwardly pat his be-blanketed head, but he was standing too far for that.

“Alright, well, keep it open—we’ll pop back in periodically to check in, if it takes a while.” He nodded to Chloe. He knew she would have liked to put a wire on him or something, but those things didn’t work across worlds.

“Be safe,” she told him, low and soft.

“Always,” he replied, cocky, but he melted into her kiss[2]. Her nearness, her touch, was like a balm in this horrid place. She felt like everything good in the world. He was going to miss her. Gone for three minutes or three years, he would miss her.

He pulled away reluctantly.

Castiel was making cow eyes at Dean. Lucifer rolled his eyes and, before he lost his nerve, he marched up to Castiel, grabbed his arm, and pulled him through the rift.

It didn’t feel good. To a human it might just look like light, but Lucifer could feel the broken edges of a hundred, a thousand, shattered universes, scrape his sides. He was gripping onto Castiel, but he could feel the angel shuddering against the horror of it, of traveling between worlds when worlds were broken, where no one was meant to travel.

And then it was over, with shocking suddenness. They were standing in a misty clearing, surrounded by huge, old growth trees. It was very early morning, barely twilight just before sunrise. The setting moon shone off the mist. 

One of the trees in the clearing stood out prominently. It was more skeleton than tree, burnt up and dead. It stank of sulfur: Hellfire, he was sure of it, down to his bones.

Lucifer felt a chill in the still twilight air. Oh, he didn’t like this creepy, foggy world at all. “Hellfire,” he told Castiel. His breath came out in a dewy fog, and he pointed to the tree. “It burned. And I think it had to do with me. Alternate me, I mean. There’s an alternate me, here.” He knew it. He knew it as surely as he knew his own name: he had an alternate here, an alternate who was very present, and very, very angry.

Castiel shifted his weight. He also looked uncomfortable. “Friendly?”

Lucifer shook his head. “Cursed, I think.”

“Trapped?” Castiel asked.

“Yes,” said Lucifer. “But he was free, recently. His footsteps are everywhere.” He shivered. “There’s something about this place. The soil. It's damned.” It wasn't like they didn't already know this; Sam had found this place because it was damned. But there was something weird about it, on top of it. The ground beneath his feet didn’t so much call to him as laugh at him, like it remembered him from something. It was incredibly disconcerting, especially since most places weren’t—malevolent, almost sentient—like that. It buzzed in his veins.

It reminded him of his Fall. 

“There’s a power source through these woods,” Castiel said softly. His breath also came out as fog. “I can feel it. And it’s warded against angels but—not quite right for me. I think I can get through.”

“Well, small mercies,” Lucifer muttered, and together they trudged through the mist. It swirled around them dramatically, almost mockingly. 

“There’s magic in the air,” Castiel said after a moment.

Lucifer snorted. “Isn’t that normal for you and your terrible world?”

“Not like this. Can you feel it?”

Lucifer inhaled deeply. He didn’t like magic so much. Some witches liked to deal with his Lesser Demons, for summoning or whatever. Some were even willing to sell their souls if a demon was interested in that sort of thing. Some demons were. But granting magic to humans had never been Lucifer’s cup of tea. It was just such a boring favor! A thousand other things they could have and—magic? Seriously? Dull.

But Lilith had liked to play with her witches, back in the day. This was long ago, of course, when she had secretly tried to make imps out of them. Lucifer had put a stop to the imp thing. It did kind of have that feeling, the witch-feeling, the Lilith-feeling.

“I can feel it,” said Lucifer. “It’s confusing.”

“It’s _everywhere_.” Castiel sounded a little distressed. “In the soil. In the stones. In the air. It’s too—thick. How is this possible?”

Lucifer clapped his shoulder. “Alternate universe, Pidge. The rules are different here.”

“It’s _awful_ ,” said Castiel.

He was kind of being a drama queen. It wasn’t _that_ bad. A little whiff of sulfur here and there, and something distant amused like it was laughing at him. but that wasn’t too terrible. Unless an angel’s senses were different from a Devil’s, here. That was possible.

They followed the pull of that power. It led them, unerringly, through the misty woods and to an archway set into the side of a great stone cliff face: a mine.

It stank of sulfur, and the bottom dropped out of Lucifer’s stomach at the sight of it, though he didn’t quite know why. He stopped dead in his tracks as they approached. All the hairs went up on the back of his neck, and if he’d had his wings out, they would have ruffled. It felt—no. No, absolutely not. He dug in his heels. Not for love or money would he go down there: it felt like a trap, and it filled him with dread.

“Are you alright?” Castiel asked. His eyes were watering a little, and his shoulders hunched, like the magic in the air was getting to him.

“No,” Lucifer said, strangled. “No books in mines. There has to be something else.”

“It’s the source of the power,” said Castiel, though he did sound doubtful.

“I’m not going down there,” said Lucifer, emphatic, and a little too loud. “You can’t make me. I refuse.” There was a tremor in his voice that he tried and failed to suppress.

“You shouldn’t go down there,” said another voice, a girl’s voice. They both jumped, on edge and anxious in the misty forest. “They say the mines lead to Hell itself. There was a cave-in last year; it’s not safe.”

She was his. When Lucifer saw her, standing there half in the fading moonlight, in the mouth of the mine and looking exhausted and sad, he knew it, just as he knew Jack and Adam were his. This alternate Lucifer had also spawned. Wonderful. For the first time, Lucifer despaired of his own promiscuity. Would a condom have hurt any of these alternates? Honestly.

But Jack and Adam had turned out alright, in the end. So, he studied this girl, because maybe—maybe—she had also favored her mother.

She was a teenager—maybe sixteen or seventeen. Her hair was so blonde it was white, and she wore a conservative dress, and red lipstick. She was watching them, completely fearless and kind of curious. She had bags under her eyes, and the weight of something terrible on her shoulders. It tugged at Lucifer, somewhere in the vicinity of his heart; Jack had the weight of worlds on his shoulders, too. Were all his children doomed to feel such terrible guilt? Was that his legacy?

No, he thought. Of course not. They weren’t _actually_ his children. The thought was unconvincing.

“I’ve never seen you around here before,” she was saying suspiciously.

“We’re not from here,” said Castiel. He was frowning at her, like he could sense something off about her, too.

“Would you do us the courtesy of telling us where we are?” Lucifer asked. “We’re quite lost.”

“You’re in the Greendale Forest,” she said. “These are the Kinkle Mines. My name’s Sabrina. Where are you trying to go?”

\-------------------------

[1] Humans did have something similar: not their soul, but their fate. Not to be confused with destiny or any sort of Plan or anything, it was a strange string that marked the beginning and the end of their lives. Unlike Grace, fate was unbreakable and couldn’t be divided. Azazel liked to make bracelets out of people’s fates. It was creepy.

[2] He completely missed Dean and Castiel’s similar, but extremely gruff exchange that had Sam hissing, “Seriously? Oh my god just _kiss_ him, Dean!” This totally solved Dean’s dilemma of How To Tell Sam, because apparently, Sam Had Figured It Out.

Sam had, in fact, been paying attention. He wasn’t a total idiot. Though, he had yet to confirm whether it had been Cas or Dean who made the first move. Eileen kept on texting him. They had that bet going. He had to know. Sam’s money was on Cas.


	10. Chapter 10

“I’m—” started Castiel, and Lucifer cleared his throat.

“No lying,” he told him, flat. “I know your boys lie; I don’t, so cut it out. Besides, it won’t help you. She’s a witch; she’ll know. Won’t you?” He tilted his head at Sabrina.

Of course, she was a witch. Just looking at her, he knew she could be nothing else.

She narrowed her eyes. “I will,” she said[1], and didn’t deny the whole witch bit. She didn’t even ask how he knew. Interesting. 

“Excellent! Then maybe you can help us. We’re looking for a library; a library nearby that might hold ancient, occult books. We need a particular book. Just research, mind. We need one spell. It’s to save—many lives.” Several billion, actually, but who was counting? 

She hummed thoughtfully. “I can help you with that. Are you witches?”

“No,” said Lucifer. “But not human. I’m—” He looked at her for a long moment, calculating. It was a risk, because who knew what witches even were in this world, but if it were home, this might help gain him her trust, or at least give her an incentive to help them. Sometimes, favors could be bought and sold, between witches and demons. So he said, very slowly, “I am an archdemon, but I mean no harm. He’s more complicated.” He tilted his head to Castiel. Angels and witches generally didn't get along at home; he would be surprised if they got on here.

Sabrina frowned. “An archdemon. What are you doing outside a summoning circle? Demons don’t come to Earth unless they’re summoned.”

This was different from home. Lucifer sniffed. “Some of us have interests beyond fire and brimstone, you know.”

“Fair point,” she said with a wry smile. “What’s your name?”

Clever girl. “And give you the power to summon me?” Lucifer asked, mock offended. “I think not.” Only a very powerful witch could summon him, but it was possible. Never mind that his motives for not giving his name were entirely different.

Her smile deepened, a little more real. So those laws were the same, here. Noted. “Fair. What can I call you?”

“We call him Pigeon,” Lucifer said, tilting his head to Castiel. Castiel scowled at him.

“We call you Assbutt,” Castiel huffed.

“Are you _kidding_ me?” Lucifer sputtered. “What the Hell kind of a name is that? Since when?”

“Since the first apocalypse,” Castiel grumbled.

“Did you make that up? You definitely made that up. Sounds like you let a demented imp loose and it created that abomination. _Assbutt,_ honestly _._ ”

“Noted,” said Castiel, dry as dust. Sabrina chuckled.

“The _first_ apocalypse?” she asked.

“It was a long time ago,” Castiel replied. “There have been several, where I come from.”

“That’s completely horrifying, did you know that?” Lucifer told him, appalled. “Not where I’m from. We had one _once_ ages ago and it failed, and I plan to keep it that way. Hence: our book problem.”

Sabrina was watching them. She had a funny half-smile on her face, like they'd amused her and she wasn't sure what to do with it. “What makes you think your book is in Greendale?” she asked. 

“We do not know,” said Castiel. “It was a place to start. It is a spell book.”

She thought about this. “The Academy’s empty right now,” she said slowly. “I can take you there, but you have to promise me that you won’t use it to hurt anyone. I mean really promise.” She glared at Lucifer. “If you’re an archdemon, I can hold you to it.”

“I can promise that,” said Lucifer. The spell was a summoning spell, after all. He wanted to find his Mum and get her to stop Dad from killing everyone. He didn’t want to hurt anyone.

“And him?” she frowned at Castiel.

“You won’t be able to bind me like you do him,” Castiel said gently. “It’ll hurt you to try; please don’t. If it will make you feel better, I will wait outside your Academy while you show him your library.”

She thought about this. “And you won’t take the book, if we have it?”

“No,” said Lucifer. “My spell should be on the first page, in fact.”

“Alright,” she said at last[2]. “Follow me.” She beckoned, and they did.

She led them out, away from the mines. The trees grew thick and dark, leaning over and blocking the lightening sky ominously. As the sun started to rise, the mists began to clear, though that wasn't much help, given the wildness of the woods, and the oppressive air. This place was damned to its core, down to the bedrock below the soil; it affected everything that grew here. Castiel hunched, a little, uncomfortable, and even Lucifer felt a strange impulse to look over his shoulder, anxiety in his gut. This place was--unfriendly, dark and dangerous in ways he couldn't describe, even to himself. But Sabrina clearly knew this forest very well, and she led them unerringly, confident and fearless in her step.

“What were you doing by those mines this early?” Lucifer asked her, if only to break the strange silence of the forest. 

The girl’s jaw clenched. “My boyfriend is in Hell,” she said[3]. “I’m trying to get to him. There’s a doorway in the mines.”

Well that was unexpected! He blinked at her, taken aback. 

"How--?” Lucifer spluttered. “How did he manage that?”

“It’s a long story,” said Sabrina. “It has to do with Lucifer.” She shot him an accusing look, daring him to react. She thought he was an archdemon, of course. He _was_ an archdemon, but not in the way she thought. All the other archdemons, like Azazel and Belial, served Lucifer, after all.

Something cold squeezed Lucifer’s heart. He exchanged a glance with Castiel. “He’s evil, then? Lucifer?” he asked. It didn’t quite come out as casual.

“He’s Lucifer,” she growled.

“A reputation is not always deserved,” said Castiel, surprisingly.

“He tried to hurt my friends,” Sabrina spat. “It’s deserved. But you must know that—you said you’re an archdemon.”

“I don’t run in those circles,” said Lucifer, honestly. “I left Hell. I don’t want to hurt people. I _like_ people. Earth’s so much better than Hell, and more interesting! You know, the other day the Detective's urchin made me a chocolate milkshake? She’s one of my humans, Sabrina,” Lucifer added. There was no harm in it; Beatrice was two universes away, safe and sound, and _urchin_ wasn't even her name. “I have friends. Human ones. The girl is fourteen and she made me a milkshake and it was wonderful. Better than what they serve in a restaurant. I have no idea how she did it; by rights it should have been terrible. She is tiny and sticky.”

“It’s because she loves you,” Castiel said, quiet. “When Dean makes cheeseburgers, I usually like them better than the restaurant ones.”

Lucifer gave Castiel a wry look. “You can’t taste anything.”

“It’s still better when Dean makes it,” Castiel insisted.

“You lovestruck idiot,” Lucifer told him fondly, and then explained to Sabrina, “Dean’s his human. He loves his Dean. Absolutely baffling, really, what with his wee willy and all.”

Castiel scowled at him[4].

“I’m hoping they’re not—sitting in a cage somewhere,” Sabrina said dryly.

“Never!” blurted Castiel, apparently horrified by this very thought. It was a pretty bad thought.

“Our humans are free-range,” said Lucifer. “They go to work and school and watch TV with us at night. We don’t hurt them. I would never.”

“Weird demon,” Sabrina told him.

“You have no idea,” Lucifer drawled.

“Then what’s the spell for?”

Lucifer and Castiel exchanged a glance.

“There is a—God, on the loose,” Castiel said slowly. “He’s hurting people. People we care about. We are attempting to summon his Consort, so she can help—keep him in line.”

“And how do you know she’s not going to help him instead?” Sabrina asked. She hopped over a root gracefully, and Lucifer followed suit. 

“She hates his guts,” he said dryly. “If anyone needed a divorce, it was those two. Also, she’s my Mother.”

“Huh,” said Sabrina. She gave him a thoughtful look. “Say, you wouldn’t have any idea of how to get my boyfriend out of Hell, would you?”

“You’re the expert,” said Lucifer to Castiel. “What was it you did? Gripped him tight and raised him—” He waggled his eyebrows.

“That requires wings,” Castiel hissed. “And a garrison.” He looked at Sabrina, long and hard. “It helps to have an ally within Hell,” he said. “Someone who can get you out again.”

“I have one of those,” she said brightly. 

“Good,” Castiel replied. “Keep them close, friend or enemy. You will need help.”

Actually, that wasn’t bad advice.

Sabrina led them past some tall bushes and they came out of the forest, abrupt and surprising. Before them was an overgrown lawn, and a great concrete building. It was rather ugly. Above its doors were the words _Gehenna Station_ , like the place was badly masquerading as a train station. Sabrina led them to the steps.

“Wait out here,” she told Castiel, on no uncertain terms. Castiel nodded.

“And swear to me,” she said to Lucifer, and he could feel the power gathering around her, “that the purpose of this spell is to save lives, and that no harm will come to the world or its inhabitants because of it.” She held out a hand.

“No _deliberate_ harm will come to the world,” Lucifer said, because there was always harm in the world, especially Nightmare World; he couldn’t change that. “My intention is to _save_ the world. This I so swear.” He shook her hand.

The binding was thick and uncomfortable. She was a powerful witch—but of course she was. Her power was equivalent to that of Jack or Adam, though she clearly didn’t know it. She would be able to tear another hole to lead them back to Nightmare World, or Daydream World, or anywhere—if she only knew that she could. Fascinating little witch, really.

A daughter.

Lucifer liked the idea of having a daughter. Not that he liked children but—he thought of Beatrice. This one would probably have fun with her, in the good way.

But Sabrina had a terrible weight on her, and she carried guilt about this boyfriend around her shoulders like a great sack. As the spell faded, Lucifer told her, “Watch that guilt, my dear. It will lead you to Hell as surely as whatever plan you are concocting, but it won’t get you out as easily.”

“I have to save him,” she said.

“I have every faith that you will,” Lucifer said kindly, and her eyes went a little misty.

“You’re the nicest demon I’ve ever met,” she said, and Lucifer laughed.

“It seems I’m one of a kind,” he said dryly. “Shall we?”

She gulped, nodded, and threw the doors open.

Within was a murky dark foyer, with a headless statue. Lucifer spared it a disconcerted look, but Sabrina walked blithely past it, down a long corridor, and then down a long flight of stairs. It became apparent that there was a second flight of stairs – walls painted green, rather than red – joined from the other side, a mirror image of the one Sabrina and Lucifer stood upon. Weird, witchy architecture.

The place was filled with pentagrams, too. Lucifer could feel it like fingers tickling the back of his neck. There was worship in the walls--and that worship was directed at him. This place belonged to him, or to alternate him, somehow. The witches here had powerful magic. It was disconcerting.

Before them was a large open doorway, without doors, and within was, of course, a library. It was a dark sort of place, this library; the floor was marble tiled, deep greens and dark reds, and the shelves all stood parallel to each other, but tilted from the main walkway.

Lucifer inhaled deeply.

The books in here were witchy books. They weren’t inert like human books, not at all; they whispered, and they sang, and they held power. At his side, Sabrina stood calm and curious. No dark power coiled; despite the calling books, this room was wrong. The books here were powerful, but none of them were half as powerful as the things in the Winchesters' archives, those books they kept behind the iron doors. These were spellbooks, but they were mostly ordinary ones, as far as anything witchy could be ordinary. The _Book of the Damned_ was on a whole other level of magic. 

“It’s not here,” said Lucifer, low. “Is there anywhere else that a book of some power might be stored?”

She frowned thoughtfully. “Are you sure?”

“Very,” said Lucifer. “This book gives off kind of an—aura.” Or at least, the other two did. “It’s bound in human skin,” he added, wrinkling his nose. “Have you ever seen anything like that?”

The girl’s frown deepened. “Actually,” she said slowly. “Yeah, yeah I have—this way.”

He followed her up the other set of stairs outside the library, and then down a dizzying set of corridors, up and down more stairs. Finally, she reached a door.

“This was Father Blackwood’s office,” she said, rather tense, like she was angry. “Before he poisoned our coven and ran.” Ah. That was—definitely a reason to be angry.

“He what now?” Lucifer asked, shocked. What a strange and terrible world. “Why?”

“He’s a horrible man,” she said under her breath. She pushed open the door.

And there it was. Lucifer inhaled again, and he could nearly smell this thing, its darkness. He walked inside, and he cast his eyes about for the wretched thing.

\----------------

[1] This was a bald-faced lie, but Sabrina was going to take any advantage she could get. Strangers in front of the Kinkle Mines were never good.

[2] Sabrina had her doubts. But an archdemon might be useful. She needed more information. And his name.

[3] And she said this because an archdemon might know how to get him out! At this point, she was desperate. More information, more information—she needed more information. Her mind raced with the possibilities.

[4] He had no idea what Lucifer was talking about. Who was Willy?


	11. Chapter 11

The office was dominated by a large desk, and there were two bookshelves beside the door. The room was furnished and painted in blacks and browns, very dark and dreary. Witches. Honestly. There was a lamp with a red glass shade on the desk, and two slim books, stacked, on one side of it. 

The _Book of the Damned_ sat upon one of the shelves by the door, pretending to be innocent. It was bound with even more skill than Serge’s had been, and it wasn’t made from the skin of a human—it was the skin of a witch, a powerful one. It was fatter than the other two books too; it contained more spells. Carefully, Lucifer pulled it from the shelf, and laid it on the desk.

“What is it?” asked Sabrina, peering over Lucifer’s shoulder. The title, of course, was in code.

“It’s called the _Book of the Damned_ ,” Lucifer said. “Volume two. I have volumes one and three, you understand. It’s all very complicated; it has to do with alternate universes, with something reaching out, from the Dark in Between.” He opened the front cover.

The book was written by a witch named Servius Aquilla, a man. Of course. A woman, a eunuch, and a man. Chaos was either terribly uncreative, because there were more sexes than that, or there were more than three books. Lucifer’s money was on the latter, but hopefully this would complete the spell, and he wouldn’t have to go looking for any more. That sounded terrible. 

“Can you read that?” she asked.

“It’s in code,” Lucifer replied. “I doubt your Blackwood would have been able to read it; there’s no codex. I memorized it long ago.”

Aquilla was far more meticulous than the others, Lucifer realized. He’d included a table of contents, and his pages were soft as butter. The spell Lucifer wanted was not on the first page; it was on the tenth. There were far more in here, and he flipped through, curious. Servius had understood more than Agnes or Serge, since he’d been a witch. The spells were more elegant, and he’d written more notes on their use.

In short, it was a very nice book, and it was far more useful than the other two. Lucifer wanted it. But he had made a promise to the girl.

“I’m going to sketch out my spell,” he told her, taking care to sound calm. No need for her to think he was going to try anything, because he wasn’t. Well. He wasn't going to try anything to hurt her, anyway, he thought, eyeing the book. 

She nodded.

With parchment from Blackwood’s desk, and a fountain pen, he sketched the third and final part of the spell they needed, a wide, backwards C, with runes dotting its side. The pen blotted uncomfortably on the paper—he hadn’t written with a real fountain pen in a rather long time, and it took a bit to get the trick of it back. He’d grown used to the ballpoints of the precinct. The blotches were unsightly, but Lucifer didn’t want to linger, so he wrote quickly. It was legible. 

The problem was that it was not, in fact, a binding spell. It was definitely the correct spell - the joins at the sides were the right shape, its incantation a clear continuation of the ones they had. The problem was that it was a freeing spell. A spell to reverse damnation, powerful enough to undo even the command of Him Above. With this spell, Lucifer could free even himself; this was the spell he had looked for, unsuccessfully, all those years ago. It was certainly enough to lift the damning from his Mother. This was problematic, because without a binding—who knew what she would do.

It didn’t matter. It was worth the risk. If Mother went berserk and killed everyone, well—Father was doing the same thing, and Lucifer could probably talk her out of it anyway. Probably. 

Still--it was worth it to add a little insurance. In the corner, small and sleek, Lucifer sketched a second spell from the book. This _was_ a binding spell, and an incredibly strong one, for damned or once-damned creatures. It was a backup plan. It wasn’t the sort of thing that might enslave anyone, but the sort of thing that might be useful, against unruly demons or harpies or monsters. You could Bind a demon to Hell, or Bind them to a task, or a person. Lucifer could Bind himself to Earth, and never have to return to Hell again, with a spell as strong as this one. It was unlikely that it could permanently Bind Mom or Dad, but it was still not a terrible plan B, or a plan D. Might buy them some time if they needed it. Dead useful, something like that. If those Winchesters wanted a Hellhound from their world, for instance, they could use that spell to Bind a damned thing as their own.

It didn’t even have that many ingredients, Lucifer thought as he scribbled. Unbreakable rope, or unbreakable string, tied in a specific knot, a Gordian knot, a knot which could not be undone. He knew of a few unbreakable chains and strings and whatnot. Azazel liked to pull out fate-strings, or life forces, from living things like animals and trees, when he was feeling especially vicious. One of those would do the trick.

He finished his notes and closed the book. “Thank you,” he told Sabrina. “You may very well have saved the world.”

She cocked her head thoughtfully, eyes on the book. “What’s the book about?”

“The _Book of the Damned_ gives mastery over anything that is damned, my dear,” Lucifer said lightly. He tapped the cover. “Summoning, binding, even removing damnation are all in these pages. It is a very powerful book. But it is in code, as I said.”

“Will you give me a spell?” she asked, stepping forward. “I mean. Will you translate one for me? In return for me bringing you here?”

Lucifer was feeling generous, and she _had_ helped him. “What do you need?”

“My boyfriend,” she blurted. “He’s in Hell. I want to rescue him.”

She had only said that like eighty times since he had met her, so this was unsurprising.

“Is he damned?” Lucifer raised an eyebrow at her.

“We’re witches; we’re all damned,” she replied.

“Fair point. Why is he in Hell?”

She bit her lip and looked at him. And then she blurted: “He trapped Lucifer.”

“ _Did_ he?” Lucifer asked, suddenly amused. What a strange world!

“Yes. Lucifer wanted to end the world—”

“What, again?” Lucifer interrupted, incensed. “Seriously? Why do my alternates always want to end the bloody world? Did you not give him good whisky? Wine? A filet minion? Earth is _so_ much better than Hell; what is this _obsession_ with ending it?”

“What?” she breathed.

“Oops,” said Lucifer.

“Your _alternates_?” she said, taking a threatening step forward. “Are you—some other Lucifer?”

Lucifer took a step back. “Pigeon!” he called and unfurled his wings. “Time to go!”

His wings came out _wrong._ Oil-slick black, they casted tiny rainbows, and they sat differently on his shoulders, the weight all distorted. They made Sabrina flinch back in shock, for just a moment. This was enough of an advantage—and Blackwood had a window behind his desk, curtains drawn. Lucifer smashed through the curtains, through the window, through the spells protecting and binding that window to the structure. He soared through, glass shattering in his wake. He heard the girl shouting spells behind him; he dodged. 

The downstroke of the wings was all wrong too, black in his peripheral vision. He shuddered in the air. They felt _bad,_ too heavy and too light at once, and it was terribly wrong, and terribly disconcerting to have limbs that were abruptly not familiar. It was time to get out of here, if only to get rid of the awful wings.

And also to get rid of the witch he'd just inexplicably annoyed. 

“Pigeon!” he called. _“Columbia livia, we have to go!”_ Enochian traveled farther than English.

More wings, dark and slick and rainbowed; Castiel rose in the air beside him, looking off-balance and freaked out. The wings were really weird. “ _What happened?”_ he demanded. He shook a wing and spared it an alarmed look. 

_“She found out who I was; we need to go home, now!”_

_“Did you get the spell?”_

_“Yes!”_

_“Well, that’s something,”_ muttered Castiel, but it was in Enochian, so it traveled.

The air around them went thick and strange: witch’s magic, powerful magic. But Lucifer and Castiel both had blades on their wings, even these weird ones, and further, Castiel was an angel, and this seemed to give him some advantage. They both tore through the spell.

The girl was undeterred. Some obscure part of Lucifer was proud of this, since she was sort of his daughter, but mostly he was annoyed. She followed them at a dead run through the forest, trying to entrap them, or pull them from the air. She was strong, but her coordination was not quite good enough to hold either of them fast.

 _“Do not fly through the tear,”_ Castiel told Lucifer urgently. “ _Your wings will blind our humans. You must land first and hide them.”_

 _“I loathe your world,”_ Lucifer gritted, but he rocketed to the ground, too fast; his feet left gouges in the dirt as he skidded on the landing. He folded his horrid dark wings away and dived headfirst into Jack’s golden tear.

His momentum carried him forward; he stumbled on the stone floor of the Nightmare World bunker and then tumbled to the ground, sliding in a heap, and hitting the center support of the map-table, lying on his side. Castiel followed closely behind him, and also tripped into the bunker. He stumbled, fell, and then skidded right into Lucifer.

“Oof,” said Lucifer.

“Close it, Jack, close it!” called Castiel.

Lucifer could practically hear Sabrina’s footsteps, but Jack closed the tear just in time. That strange thickness of the air, her gathering spell, went taut and snapped with the closing of the door to that other world. Lucifer breathed out a relieved sigh.

“Lucifer!”

Oh, that voice. It was the best voice. Lucifer raised his head. “Detective?” he asked hopefully.

Chloe slipped around the table and then ducked so she could look under it, at Lucifer. “Are you alright? Castiel?”

“Castiel?” asked a second voice. Jack’s.

Pressed close to Lucifer, practically under his wing, if Lucifer had had his wings out, Castiel groaned.

“I’m alright,” Lucifer said. He pushed ineffectively at Castiel. “He’s alright too; he’s just being a brat.”

“I’m not being a brat. That was very strange. I’m fine, Jack,” Castiel added, gruff. He pushed himself up on an elbow, not standing yet, and definitely still under the table. He continued to be way too close to Lucifer. “Where are Sam and Dean[1]?”

“They went to get dinner[2],” Jack said. “Chloe and I were guarding the crack, right Chloe?” He peered under the table too, though mostly so he could smile at Chloe. There were stars in his eyes.

“My human, hands off,” said Lucifer, without any heat.

“Lucifer,” Chloe chided, but she sounded amused. She offered him a hand.

He took it and let her pull him away from Castiel and out from under the table, then to his feet. He swayed into her arms, natural as breathing.

“Are you alright?” she asked, arms going around his back. “You’ve been gone for hours.” She scratched at his spine lightly, affectionately, and it was the best thing.

“I’m fine,” Lucifer sighed into her hair, comforted. “It wasn’t that bad, really. I was evil in that world, too.” The last was hard to say, and it stuck a little in his throat.

Chloe did her funny human thrum for him, sweet and soft. Lucifer sighed again and leaned into her just a little more. “I got the spell, too. We met a lovely girl named Sabrina - it turns out that she was my alternate’s daughter.”

“Another Nephilim?” Jack asked, startled. “My—my sister?”

“Not really,” said Castiel, peeking out from under the table. “She was a witch instead. And it was a different Lucifer. She seemed very sad.”

“Can we help her?” Jack asked urgently.

“Her world is dead[3], Jack,” Castiel replied kindly, still under the table. “It took a time travel spell to get us there. I have no doubt that she found that lost boyfriend. She seemed determined, and a force to be reckoned with.” He smiled.

“Let’s fix our problems first,” Chloe said, pulling back from Lucifer. “And then maybe we can discuss it, okay, Jack? I know you can tear cracks that go back through time, so if we tackle that problem, _when_ doesn’t matter so much.”

Jack nodded. “Alright,” he said. He smiled at her. “I like you,” he said. “You think about things. And you’re nice.”

“She’s not _nice_ , she’s so much more than _nice,_ ” Lucifer said, affronted, “She’s cunning, and determined and forgiving—”

“Alright,” Chloe laughed, resting a hand on his chest, over his heart. “Alright.” She patted him, smiling. Lucifer gazed back at her helplessly. It mattered. Nice was for little old ladies. His Chloe was so gloriously _fierce_. She stopped at nothing to achieve her ambitions. She found killers like a bloodhound, and she cared about every victim, every family member left behind. Her determination, her tenaciousness, her intelligence, were the things he admired about her. 

“You have the spell, Lucifer?” Castiel asked. He slipped out from under the table and finally got to his feet. 

Lucifer fished around in his pocket and then handed his crumpled notes to Castiel. “Book Two was better,” he said. “Servius Aquilla – the witch who wrote it – actually knew what he was doing. There were more spells and notes.”

“And a Binding spell you stole, I see,” Castiel drawled, spreading the papers out on the table.

“I thought your boys might want a Hellhound, from this world,” Lucifer sniffed. It wasn’t a lie, of course. But that spell could come in handy a multitude of different ways. It was incredibly powerful. It could pull a demon out of Hell and Bind it to Earth, even, changing its loyalties forever. It might have a chance at binding an unruly Mum before she could do too much damage, if she were so inclined.

Castiel blinked at him. “Oh,” he said, startled. “That was—thank you. I think they would prefer one of your hounds, though.”

“Come to Daydream World, and it’s yours,” said Lucifer, and he meant it. “Purebred, working dog, street dog, or anything in between, whichever you desire. Hell has plenty. But I can’t promise their behavior here, you see.”

Castiel smiled at him with his dead face. Had to get him some firmament, Lucifer thought absently. On the way home, they’d pick up some for him. Get him out of that Jimmy Novak.

\-------------------

[1] Mostly Dean. He wanted Dean. That world hadn’t been as bad as, say, Apocalypse World, but he definitely hadn’t liked it. It had felt all wrong on his senses, and he wanted the comfort of Dean’s nearness to soothe his jangling nerves.

[2] And also, to harvest wood. Dean explained the dowel thing to Sam in the car, and Sam insisted they pick up some tree branches or something, to start making dowels, so they’d be ready whenever they figured out how to not go blind around Cas’ wings. Dean knew nothing about trees, but Sam did. He grabbed a bunch of oak branches: strength and endurance. Dean kind of accidentally-on-purpose decimated a small honey locust tree on some guy’s lawn for its wood while Sam laughed at him. Beauty and protection—fuck off, Sam. They both stripped off the leaves and tossed the wood in the trunk for later.

[3] It wasn’t as dead as it looked. Anyway, Chuck never actually got to that world. In the present, that place was broken, half smashed into its own Hell, but it wasn’t quite dead yet. The worst was yet to come and unfortunately, Sabrina herself could use all the help she could get.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all - will be replying to comments tomorrow; I figured I'd get this nice fluffy chapter up ASAP! :D

“So, what’s the spell?” Chloe asked.

“It’s a—freeing spell,” Lucifer said. “Un-damning. Simple on the surface, but complex, and as it connects to the rest of the spell—” his voice faded.

“We should wait for Sam,” Castiel said, studying Lucifer's notes the spell, which he'd laid out on the map table. “He studied under Rowena, a little.”

Lucifer blinked. “I know Rowena,” he said. “She’s—the rising Queen of your Hell. We have an informal treaty. She was a witch?” He did recall someone mentioning that.

“A powerful one,” said Castiel. “She was an ally and even a friend. But I do not think it is—wise. To give her this much power.” He looked up and met Lucifer's eyes, for emphasis. 

Lucifer thought about this. He knew next to nothing about Rowena, besides what he had observed of her through the great crack in Hell. Red hair, a lilting Scottish accent; a human trying to ascend the throne. “She wasn’t dethroned?” he asked. “By an imp named Lilith, by any chance?”

Because that was what Lilith had said, that a human could rule this Hell, and that was where she was going.

“No,” Castiel said. He’d been there after the dust had settled, after all. He knew. “We never saw your Lilith. Our Lilith came back from the dead for some time.” He frowned. “There may be a connection[1].”

“I really don’t want to know, do I?” Lucifer drawled.

“Probably not,” agreed Castiel.

“The more I learn about this world, the more bizarre it gets,” Chloe said. “Do you want to take a shower while we wait, Lucifer? You’re covered in dirt.” She brushed at some of that weird forest off Lucifer’s shoulder.

Like Lucifer would ever refuse a shower with Chloe. “Only if you join me, darling.”

She went a little flustered, which was charming, but she didn’t refuse. In fact, she took his hand with minimal eye-rolling. “I'll find you some clean clothes. Tell us when Sam and Dean get back,” she told Castiel, and pulled on Lucifer, gently.

A pull like that? He’d follow her anywhere. “You know there’s dungeons here,” he said, teasing, as she tugged him out of the war room and down a corridor.

“They’re not sex dungeons, Lucifer. They’re real dungeons,” she replied dryly. “I went exploring while we were waiting for you to get back. Will you _actually_ get stuck in a devil’s trap?”

They were far enough from the war room, Lucifer thought. Chloe liked privacy. He pounced, backing her up very carefully—wouldn’t do for her to hit her head—against a subway-tiled wall. “Oh, no, Detective,” he purred. “I’m the devil doing the trapping. Those sigils draw on my power—or, well, Hell’s power—to stop those imps cold[2]. Couldn’t you tell?” He touched his nose to hers, playful.

She pushed back, a nuzzle. “Thought it had something to do with you,” she murmured, a smile in her voice. One of her hands came up and stroked back his hair. He leaned his forehead against hers, breathing her in. She was warm and close and amused, and best of all she _let_ him close. He felt the contented thrum building in his throat.

“Chloe!” called a voice from the other room. Jack. “Sam and Dean are back!”

“Seriously?” growled Lucifer.

Chloe chuckled, her forehead nudging against his. “I think we can still sneak in a shower. You stink.”

“I do not!”

“Yeah, you do. Like a musty old forest.” Her eyes danced. “I’ll hold them off. I’ll join you in a sec.” She pushed his chest, lightly. He didn’t move, and leaned more heavily into her, sighing.

“Lucifer,” she murmured, teasing. She pushed him again, though less than before, back a little so she could kiss him, slow and gentle and lovely. Her taste was all weird in this world, where Lucifer tasted all the little molecules, but the heat was still there, her essence was still there. His knees still went a little weak when she caressed his cheek. He thrummed quietly. 

“I love you too,” she murmured, pulling back. “Now go shower, Lucifer.”

She did, in fact, join him in the shower about fifteen minutes later. The sex was still mediocre on his end – this universe was absolutely wretched; how did Castiel stand it? – though again, he made sure that she still enjoyed it. She really did try for him, and he appreciated that, but there was something about his body, about the physics of this place, that just made it lackluster. Bloody disappointing.

But Chloe was nothing if not determined. She took his hand, under the spray, twining their fingers and she looked in his eyes. His breath caught and his heart stuttered, and he let her lead, spellbound. The paradox sparked between their palms, and _oh,_ that was still good. Except even that was a little wrong too—Lucifer was bigger and brighter than he normally was, so he curled himself around her, protective, and vibrated anxiously. She stroked him from the inside and stayed with him and it was—

“ _What are you doing?_ ”

Lucifer slammed back into his body and Chloe yelped at the sudden intrusion. He leaped to stand in front of her, snarling. Who _dared—?_

“Jack. Jack, it’s just a paradox. Jack, let them be.” Castiel had barged in right after the boy and was tugging on him. They were both distorted beyond the semi-clear shower curtain. Lucifer peered around it, glaring. 

“But it’s terrible!” cried the boy. Lucifer decided that there were way too many people in this one tiny washroom.

“Maybe for you,” growled Lucifer, trying to calm himself down. It was difficult. Paradoxes really weren't like sex; he had no particular compunction about sex, though had Jack walked in a few minutes earlier, Lucifer would have irritably shooed him out. A paradox, though. That was a different sort of thing, and Lucifer's heart hammered with something sharp, nameless and intense. Paradoxes were just that: paradoxical, incredibly powerful and incredibly fragile all at once. Both of them having lost concentration, it had dissipated like so much smoke. He felt off-balance and strangely worried. Lucifer knew that the paradox had dissolved because they had both been distracted, but part of him was screaming that Chloe was in danger, even though she definitely wasn’t. Jack was just an eyas; he wouldn't hurt them. It felt like he was being pulled in two directions--a contradiction, the remainder of the paradox gone wrong. 

His voice came out rough. “Do as he says. Leave. Now. Before I do something rash.” He could feel his eyes glowing red, a real, actual demonic growl rising in his throat. He suppressed it. He didn’t like how Hell had changed him, changed all the Fallen. Besides, while he was irritated, it was clear there was no actual danger here. 

“It’s alright,” Chloe said, from behind him. Her voice was a little unsteady and that was completely terrible. She had her palm on his spine, stroking slowly up and down. It helped. She shook a little—not with fright, he was certain, but it still made him angry[3]. “We’re both alright. You should go.”

Castiel pulled Jack out of the room. “We’re going to collect ingredients for the spell tomorrow, Lucifer,” he said softly, soothingly. “Rest, tonight. Sam and Dean brought back pizza.”

Lucifer wanted nothing to do with terrible Nightmare Pizza, and he didn’t relax until Castiel left, shooing a protesting Jack down the hall.

There was a long silence.

“Well,” said Chloe, wry, and perfectly fine, of course. “That killed the mood.”

The tension unspooled from Lucifer’s spine, contradicting desires fading as he relaxed. He huffed a laugh. “Rather.” He bent to offer her his hand. “It was a lovely paradox while it lasted,” he sighed.

She hummed and slipped, naked into his arms. Naked, damp hugs were his favorite kind. Well. Naked hugs were. The dampness was a bonus. He rested his nose in her hair. Post-paradox closeness was excellent, even if this had been paradoxus interruptus. He had a bit of the high, though it had gone a little sideways with the interruption. It wasn't unpleasant, just kind of weird. Shame.

“I’m sure I can take some pizza,” Chloe said into his chest. He could feel her breath on his skin, and it was marvelous. It soothed away some more of his tension. “We can have a quiet dinner in our room, what do you think?”

“I think that sounds wonderful,” Lucifer murmured.

She managed to wriggle away and got her clothes on—more’s the pity. She hissed and swatted him when he left the bathroom in nothing but a towel, but he was hardly going to put his filthy clothes back on! Honestly.

He did not, in fact, put more clothes on at all. Naked was better. Chloe reappeared with pizza, which would doubtless taste disappointing. She rolled her eyes at him but still sat beside him on the bed, all curled up to him like the best sort of kitten. The last of the unsteady feeling melted away under the warmth of her touch. 

“What was the other world like?” she asked, separating out her own slice of pizza. She offered him one, but he turned her down. It wasn’t worth it.

“Misty,” said Lucifer. “Strange.” He leaned into her, reassured by her nearness. “There was magic in the air, thick like syrup. I think it bothered Castiel more than it did me, truth be told, but I definitely felt it. We found the girl—Sabrina—by these old mines. She said there was a doorway to Hell in those mines, but it was something much worse, I think.” Lucifer gulped. “The other Lucifer was trapped, but before that, he was cursed. I could feel it in the air, settling about my shoulders. If I had stayed, I fear I would grow to be cursed, too.”

“But you’re not, are you?” Chloe asked. She rubbed his shoulder. “Cursed?”

“No. I don’t think so. It was very unpleasant, darling.” He leaned into her touch and watched her eat her pizza. “What happened while I was gone?”

“Nothing really,” Chloe said. She smirked. “Though Sam made fun of Dean for a while about Castiel. That was kind of fun. I like him—Sam, I mean. I like them all.”

Of course she liked Sam, Lucifer thought, gazing at her tenderly. Sam had that weird vessel thing. There was a pull there. He liked Sam too. It was disconcerting, and probably not natural.

“You know,” he said, “if Sam is my—my vessel, he probably reminds you of me. It’s a manipulation from my wretched Father.”

She didn’t sound surprised or shocked, as he’d expected her to. “I know. I’ve thought about it. But it’s not Sam’s fault. He said no, remember? He refused your Dad’s destiny as much as you have. We chatted, while we waited for you. He’s not so bad. I mean, don’t possess him—could you even do that? —but he’s just a guy.”

Lucifer shivered a little. “I could. I’d rather not.”

“What’s it like?” she asked, morbidly curious. “Possessing someone.”

“I don’t know,” he said. “I’ve always had this body. I saw no need to take another. Ask Crowley—he’s done it. Aziraphale’s definitely done it.”

Chloe sighed, but it was a contented one, not disappointed. Pleased. Pleased that he’d never possessed anyone? He hoped so. “I love you,” she said. “You know that?”

Contentment rolled through him like a warm breeze. He let his eyes go half lidded and he thrummed at her, rather than replying.

They made it under the covers, but she was too sleepy for more sex. That was more than alright: a warm bundle of human was just as good, especially here in Nightmare World where everything was terrible, and after that weird broken paradox. He could feel her heart beating through her back as he curled close—big spoon for now, because this world was dangerous, and he didn’t like the idea of her back exposed. Usually they swapped, at home. He liked being little spoon. She fiddled with his wings, if he was little spoon. But big spoon was good too. Being close to Chloe was good.

He rested his cheek in her hair, and he watched the door. The bed was kind of too small; everyone kept telling him that this whole place had belonged to these guys called Men of Letters and Sam had said that these were their dorms and blah blah; Lucifer hadn’t really cared. He _had_ cared that it was warded to the teeth. It was good that it was warded, but it wasn’t as safe as their safe house, or even the penthouse, or Chloe’s home.

He felt Chloe drift off, and he relished her weight, even as she started to snore like a steam train. He watched the door, and he Guarded her, a sentry, an old angel skill, all through the night.

\----------------------

[1] There was 300% a connection.

[2] This was true, as far as he knew. A Devil’s Trap was human magic, mostly unknowable to a Celestial, but it did draw power from Hell.

[3] Chloe wasn’t afraid but she was totally unnerved. She was also feeling that broken paradox - contradicting desires. She kind of wanted to shout, like really tear into Jack, while also wanting to comfort the clearly traumatized boy that they meant no harm. Both instincts were incredibly strong and this was confusing, so she did neither. She hid behind Lucifer instead. Who just barged into a locked bathroom like that? There was a shower curtain, but she was naked! God knew Lucifer had no compunction about nakedness, so at least she didn’t have to worry about him. It had been long years since Hot Tub High School and she didn’t need a repeat performance! 


	13. Chapter 13

Lucifer stayed with Chloe through the night, but in the early morning, he slipped out of bed, intending to make her breakfast. There was movement in the bunker, and it felt safe enough to leave her on her own for a bit, in the daytime. He put on a shirt and some trousers and ventured out.

Sam Winchester was in the kitchen, making some kind of green smoothie. Lucifer eyed him and then the ingredients. It looked boring. 

“Ginger,” Lucifer said, over his shoulder, unable to quite help himself. Sam jumped. “Needs ginger.”

Sam wheeled, clutching a paring knife, clearly frightened. His eyes caught on Lucifer warily. “What?”

“Bit boring otherwise, isn’t it? Try some spice.” Lucifer ignored Sam’s fear, because it made him uncomfortable. He was good at ignoring discomfort. He gestured to the smoothie.

Sam hesitated. He eyed Lucifer, but then he did pull some ginger out of somewhere[1]. “I’ll—give it a shot,” he said slowly. After a beat, he added, “What are you doing up so early?”

Lucifer scowled. “Can’t sleep at all in this wretched universe. Thought I’d make the Detective some breakfast. Do you have bacon?”

Sam tossed some ginger in the blender after his other ingredients and turned it on. In the roar of the whirling blades, he tilted his head toward the refrigerator. This seemed like an affirmative, so Lucifer rummaged. Sam turned off the blender and tasted. He made a pleased noise.

“You can cook,” he said, which was obvious from the risotto the other night, but he seemed baffled, and still spooked. “Where did you learn to cook?”

“France,” said Lucifer to the refrigerator, still rummaging. “Well—all over, really, but mostly France.” He scooped out eggs, butter, and bacon.

Lucifer could feel Sam’s eyes on him. “And you’ve been—on Earth. This whole time?”

Lucifer assembled his pans, and he answered absently. “No. I may have got out of the cage, but dear old _Dad_ was rather adamant that I stay in Hell. I liked to escape to Earth, but my brother Amenadiel would inevitably show up and drag me back Down.” He turned on the heat, scowling.

Sam made an interested noise. “What did you do on Earth?” He had his smoothie in a glass, now. He was leaning back against the counter, sipping it out of a straw. He still looked totally freaked out, but also curious. Lucifer indulged him, because Sam kind of fascinated him, too.

“Sex, mostly. There were a few _really_ memorable parties. This one time in Sumer—ohh, I never looked at date palms the same way again! I don’t understand how these other versions of me can hate humanity, frankly. You’re all lovely.” He cracked the egg and began to scramble it. “Would you like some breakfast?”

Sam blinked at him. He looked Lucifer up and down and finally said, “Uh—sure?” He hesitated. “This one—he said he was jealous. That we had Free Will, that God liked humans more than him.” 

“Well, that’s not your fault, is it?” Lucifer shrugged and added more eggs. “It’s Dad’s, for being a douchebag."

Sam laughed, like it was startled out of him. It was a nice sound.

He could fall in love with this one, too, Lucifer thought, despairing. Sam was so skittish—it was clearly because of this alternate Lucifer, the cretin. He’d clearly hurt him; Lucifer could see the wounds. It would be fun, coaxing this boy to him, coaxing his fear from him, replacing it with trust and pleasure. He looked like he could use some pleasure. The connection was extraordinarily strong. Monogamy was kind of for suckers……but Chloe was far too important to risk.

“What did he do to you?” Lucifer asked softly, when Sam’s laugh died down. “This Lucifer. You have marks on your soul—I can see them.”

Sam stared at him[2]. Lucifer watched the tension spiral up those big strong shoulders. “I was in the Cage,” he said.

It wasn’t like Lucifer didn’t already know this, but it still made his hackles rise. “No human,” he growled, “should ever be in that Cage. I can erase that memory, should you so desire.”

He didn’t make a habit of mucking around with human memory. But the Cage? That didn’t belong in any human’s psyche.

Sam shook his head. “No. It—won’t help. But—thanks. Really. Thanks. Dean’s right—you _are_ different.”

Lucifer scrambled the eggs some more. “I should hope so,” he growled. “I cannot heal your soul here, you understand, but if you return with us to Daydream World, I can give you one of my feathers, which will speed up the healing process.” He glanced at him. “Squeaky clean, after a few weeks. It will stop hurting, too. It looks painful.”

It did. Sam’s soul had great craters in it, huge gouges like rifts and claw marks. Like fingernails. There were hazy burns, too. Lucifer recognized his own work, his own sense of humor, there. The wounds were old, and the soul was healing, but it was a slow process, and the ache of it must have been maddening. The King of Hell’s healing touch might help.

“I—I might take you up on that,” Sam said. “Thanks.” He swallowed. “How are you so different?”

“I escaped,” said Lucifer. He put the eggs on the plate and started the bacon, reflecting ruefully that he had done this in the wrong order. Bacon fat made for good eggs, but he was rather distracted. “It was about two years, in the cage. I didn’t stew in isolation for millennia. I established law in Hell; I met a few delightful humans, over time. It wasn’t their fault that my Father is terrible. And the world is very lovely. I can appreciate good craftsmanship.” He put the first batch of bacon on Sam’s plate with half of the eggs and passed it over. 

Sam nibbled on it, first hesitent, and then enthused. “You’re saying this one went crazy.”

Lucifer shrugged. “If I hadn’t met humans—had too long to stew in rage at my Father’s machinations—who knows where I would be?”

“Who were they? The ones you met.” Sam looked fascinated. 

“No one, really.” This was true; he hadn’t loved them. But he had liked them a great deal, old Nanna and Shulgi, and their beer, and their gardens. “But I spent the night with them, and they admired my stars. The wind was fair, and we drank. It was a good night. But that’s enough about me, Sam Winchester. What do _you_ desire?”

He looked into Sam’s eyes and he _pressed,_ just a little. Sam shrugged at him, clearly unaffected. Lucifer blinked, shocked. He really shouldn’t have been surprised, but he was: Sam was just like Chloe. He was just like Chloe. He still had his mojo here in Nightmare World; he knew he did. It wasn't the kind of thing he could lose without noticing. Remarkable. The boy didn’t seem to even _notice_.

“I don’t know anymore,” Sam was saying lightly. “It’s been a while since I’ve asked myself that question.” He took a bite of eggs. “I guess I just want everyone to be safe? My brother. Castiel, Jack. The world.” 

“Come to Daydream World,” Lucifer said, again, fascinated that Sam seemed to be immune, too. He had an inkling that bringing his mojo up would go poorly with this specific human, so he didn't. “It’s safe there, once we take care of this Dad problem.”

Sam chuckled. “Might take you up on that.” His smile was wry and charming.

Oh, this boy was dangerous. “You can feel it too, can’t you?” Lucifer demanded. “This. This—affinity.” The word was as good as any. 

“I’m assuming you don’t give out your life story to just anyone?” Sam said. Lucifer blanched. Sam was right; Lucifer hadn’t intended to do that. No harm in it, but it still caught him off guard and that was not a comfortable feeling. “Yeah, I feel it too. I felt it with the other Lucifer. It’s the vessel thing. I resisted it because he was evil. You’re—not evil.”

That was nice to hear, but this was still weird. “It’s weird,” he declared.

Sam laughed. “Yeah, it is. It’s alright. You get used to it.”

Lucifer narrowed his eyes at Sam. “You still have a long way to go before you become one of my humans. Affinity or no affinity.”

Sam was still amused. “Yeah, same here. I have a bunch of bad experiences with this Lucifer; you’re going to take some getting used to. Go take that to your girlfriend.” He nodded to the other plate of eggs and bacon. “She’ll like it; it’s really good.”

Lucifer did just that.

Chloe wasn’t quite awake yet, but she’d snuffled over to his side of the bed. It made something in his chest ache, that she was looking for him, even unconscious. She was beautiful even asleep, her hair a golden tangle. Lucifer sat next to her and ran his fingers lightly through her hair, untangling, preening.

She snored.

“I have breakfast,” Lucifer murmured, feeling tender.

“Five more minutes,” Chloe grumbled. Lucifer chuckled, delighted.

Sam was beguiling, he thought, pleased, but Chloe was better. Even if he had to practice monogamy, really there was no choice. Chloe won every time.

“If that is what you so desire,” he teased, “But your breakfast will get cold.”

Chloe groaned. It wasn’t the sexy kind; it was the annoyed kind. He grinned into her eyes when she opened them. “Hello lovely,” he said, pleased to see her.

She shuffled and then draped herself across his legs. She was the best human of all time, even if she was grumpy and sleepy, and he kept preening her hair, perfectly content. She yawned like an adorable woodland animal. Like a possum.

“What time is it?” she mumbled.

“No idea,” Lucifer chirped. “Hard to tell in this wretched underground bunker. Early, I think.”

She huffed a sleepy laugh. “You said you had breakfast?” she said.

Lucifer hummed at her and placed his offering. She sat up a little, but still leaned on him. She nibbled and then smiled. “Thanks, Lucifer, this is wonderful.”

She always said that, and she always meant it. He settled into her and his hum deepened and softened into a pleased thrum.

“How long have you been awake?”

“All night,” Lucifer sighed. “Apparently angel-stock doesn’t sleep at all in this wretched place.”

“That’s terrible,” said Chloe. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, I’m fine.” He hesitated. “There’s something—strange, though. With Sam Winchester.” This felt like something he should tell her.

“Oh?”

He nodded. “The vessel thing—there’s—some kind of affinity. I’m rather confused about the whole thing, truth be told, darling, but it’s—the kind of thing I should tell you about, I think.”

She nodded and took a bite of eggs. “You noticed it when we first got here,” she said. “You kind of freaked. What do you mean by affinity?”

“Fascination,” said Lucifer, honestly. “He’s been injured, by the other me. I want to fix it.” He eyed her. “If you were up for a threesome, I would invite him.” Fun mental image, that.

Chloe chuckled, utterly unthreatened. “You would invite the lady at the front desk, the janitor, _and_ the new Lieutenant, Lucifer. Your standards aren’t very high.”

“I beg your pardon!” Lucifer said, mock insulted. “My standards are extremely high!” The janitor at least was lovely. And the new Lieutenant was just—ripe for the plucking!

Chloe chuckled again. She carefully put her empty plate onto the bedside table and then put her arms around his waist. “Should I be worried about it?” she asked[3]. “This affinity?”

Lucifer shook his head emphatically. “Never,” he said. “ _Never_ , Chloe. I promised you monogamy, and monogamy is what you get. I keep my promises. Unless you want that threesome.”

She smacked his arm but negated that somewhat by leaning into his shoulder right after. She trusted his word, after all. The very idea of that, as always, raised a hard lump in his throat. He trusted her word too, he thought, even though she lied sometimes. He loved her anyway. “Thank you for telling me,” she said.

He kissed the top of her head and closed his eyes but didn’t reply.

They sat in snug silence for a short while. But there were spells to do and goddesses to summon, so together they dressed[4] and made their way out to the main area.

Sam had wandered back out there too, and so had Jack. They were sitting together in the library, talking quietly together. Dean and Castiel, of course, were nowhere to be found. Probably busy elsewhere. Well. _Busy._

“Castiel shouldn’t be having sex here,” Lucifer said loudly upon entering the room. Everyone gaped at him, even Chloe. “It’s terrible, here, and he has enough to deal with what with the, you know, teeny weenie issue.” Sam choked. “They should have done it back in Daydream World—what!” Chloe had smacked his shoulder.

“Lucifer,” she hissed.

Sam collapsed into laughter. It was a good sound.

“What? That’s obviously where they are! It’s taking a long time for something so short.” Sam put his fist to his lips, turning red from trying to suppress his laughter. “There isn’t a paradox in the air; I’d be able to smell it, and this little miscreant would go berserk again.” He glared at Jack. Jack sank in his chair a little.

“I didn’t know what it was,” he said, sulky. “It felt bad.”

“Of course it felt _bad._ Paradoxes are unnatural. They always feel _bad_ to anyone who’s not a part of it.” Lucifer sniffed, offended. He pulled out a chair for Chloe and she sat, looking kind of harassed. She glared at him and he smiled winningly back at her, before taking a seat by her side. 

There was a rustle from somewhere, down a hall.

“Dean!” called Sam, sounding _absolutely delighted._ “Lucifer says you were having sex! How did it go?”

Inarticulate choking down the hall. A scuffle. Two sets of footsteps: Castiel marched a spluttering Dean out into the room, hands on his shoulders. Dean’s face was red as a tomato.

“Very well, thank you for informing him, Lucifer,” Castiel hissed, glaring. Sam almost fell off his seat.

“Cas,” gritted Dean, “not better.”

“ANYway,” said Chloe, looking adorably desperate to talk about literally anything but this, “who’s ready for some magic?”

It was objectively hilarious to watch.

Sam cackled harder. He seemed to agree.

“I don’t understand,” said Jack.

Sam wheezed.

“I hate you so much,” hissed Dean to Sam.

“Magic!” Sam gasped. “Magic! Most of these ingredients are rare!” He wiped a tear from his eye.

Dean scowled and said nothing.

“Rare? Most of them don’t exist,” Lucifer said.

Last night, the boys had been busy. Not the fun kind of busy; the actual kind of busy. They’d sketched out the spell to its fullest, a wide circle, its runes interlocking. It was elegant, really. Seeing it all together, how is spanned three universes, Lucifer could see Chaos’ hand in it. Chaos was nothing and everything, after all. Fluid. Indeed, the spell called for quicksilver, and one ingredient flowed into another, solids and liquids and gasses all mixed in an elegant order, one that would encourage the solutions to twirl like a very slow tornado. A few changes here and there, Mom’s Name swapped in the right places, and they would be golden. Provided they could get all the weird stuff on the ingredients list. “What is a wendigo?”

“They live in this world,” Castiel said. “They’re monsters. Vicious. We should have some of their teeth, here.” He shrugged.

Lucifer kept reading. “Iron-breaker is common enough, though it only grows in Hell. Does it grow here, too?”

“Yes,” said Castiel. “But it’s very rare here.”

“We can get that in my Hell, then,” said Lucifer. “Or I can have someone bring it to me. Ipos can do it. They grow in the Fifth Circle. Fireflower’s rare in my Hell, though.”

“Not here,” said Sam. “We can ask Rowena. What’s an erinacon?”

“Beast from the Seventh Circle of my Hell. Looks like a porcupine, but big and hungry. Byleth can get me a spine from one,” Lucifer murmured. “Between the two worlds, perhaps we _can_ get all of these. Though we are lacking in ingredients from Witch-World.” There was probably something here about balance, about some of the ingredients coming from each world.

“I’m not going back,” said Castiel, expressing Lucifer’s thoughts exactly. That place was creepy. Not that this place wasn’t also creepy.

“Paper,” grunted Dean. He still seemed embarrassed, though the conversation had moved on. He cleared his throat. “We have the paper you wrote the spell on, and the ink you used. The spell calls for parchment, and for drops of ink.”

“Clever,” said Lucifer. It probably wouldn’t balance it out entirely, but it would help. He’d blotted some of the ink, too. That would definitely help. 

“So, what should we do?” asked Chloe.

“Assemble the ingredients,” said Sam.

“We need to talk to Rowena,” said Lucifer seriously. This was a diplomacy thing. “We need her to arrange safe passage for my people so they can bring what we need. I can exchange some of our ingredients; you said they were rare, here. Hell,” he added, amused, “Byleth can get her a whole bloody erinacon, alive, if she wants one.” Never let it be said that Lucifer was not generous with his friends.

Sam and Dean looked at each other. “We’ll need to go to Hell for that,” Sam said. “I don’t think she can leave.”

Lucifer shook his head. “I’ll go.”

“I’ll come,” said Chloe.

“What?” Lucifer gaped at her. “No. Absolutely not. Detective—”

“I’m not letting you go alone,” Chloe said, calmly. “Besides, this Hell won’t drive me crazy, will it?”

“No,” said Castiel.

“But you’re not—Detective, you _do not_ belong in Hell—”

“I’m treating it like a case, Lucifer,” Chloe said, low and firm. “Which means I go wherever I need to go. I’m not about to send you to some other Hell without backup.” She held up a hand when he made to argue. “I know. I know you’re the King of Hell. That’s our Hell, not this one. This one is different. And if you need to play diplomat, I can help.”

“I’m very diplomatic,” Lucifer spluttered. Well. He was diplomatic in that he hadn’t totally razed Hell and its monsters and inhabitants to the ground, at the Start. He probably should have.

“No, you’re not,” Chloe said, dry as dust.

Castiel snorted.

“Oh, shut up _,_ ” Lucifer snapped at him. He looked at Chloe. It was dangerous, it was true. And she didn’t belong anywhere near Hell; this was also true. But she could hold her own, and she’d be with him. They’d paradoxed Nightmare imps before, of course, and deep down, secretly, he rather liked the idea of having a real consort. “Fine. But you’re following my lead, understood?”

“Of course,” she said, which meant that she absolutely wouldn’t. Dammit. This was a terrible idea.

“Well, send her our best,” Sam said dryly. “We’ll be gathering ingredients on our end while you’re gone.”

Lucifer nodded. He looked back at Chloe. She really didn’t belong in Hell. This was the worst idea. “Are you certain?” he asked, one last time.

“Yeah,” she said, smiling wryly. “Where do we start?”

\----------------------------------

[1] …Because he was right; the smoothie was boring. Sam was getting sick of this particular smoothie, but he hadn’t made up another one yet. And this Lucifer also didn’t exude evil the way the other one did. He didn’t make Sam’s skin crawl. He was still creepy, and Sam was definitely afraid of him, but he had yet to hurt anyone, and Cas seemed to like him. Chloe had nothing but praise for him. Also, he cuddled her like she was his personal teddy bear. It was hard to be truly afraid of someone so lovey. Still worth it to keep an eye on him, though.

[2] Was that _actual concern_? It sounded like it. Sam kind of knew about the marks. Nobody had told him, nobody had confirmed it, but part of him seemed to ache, always, someplace deep inside. It wasn't debilitating--in fact, it didn't inhibit him at all--but it was unpleasant. He wondered, morbidly, whether they looked like Nightmare Lucifer's fingerprints. They probably did. He suppressed a shudder. 

[3] This was a part of their relationship that Chloe really, really loved. She could ask him this and get an honest answer, and he would curl close to her as he said it, earnest and loyal. He was a big doofus of a devil and she loved him. 

[4] Dressed for real: Lucifer put on clothes that were not wrinkled, thank you.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all!! I have LOTS of good things happening this week and I'm VERY excited so I figured I'd share the wealth!! Have a surprise chapter, and I hope you all have a FABULOUS week!!

They started with Surgat.

Well, actually, Lucifer wrote a letter to Eligos ordering them to meet him at the Eighth Circle hole, the one in the Malabolge’s furrow rather than the one in the great flat plain, and that was the start. Then he wrote to Byleth and Ipos to fetch Eligos the supplies they needed. _Then_ he and Chloe went to the stables to find Surgat, who had to tack his cats again. They were lazing about in a great old horse stall, chewing on what looked like jerky. Where Surgat had got jerky was a mystery[1]. 

Chloe stood by Lucifer’s side, watching the demon hitch the great spotted cats up to the wagon. “Any advice?” she asked him.

“Hmm?”

“Any advice. For dealing with Hell.”

Lucifer looked at her tenderly. Really, she shouldn’t be doing this at all. She should be in LA, with her spawn, safe and sound. This was a bad idea--it was the mother of all bad ideas. But she’d already shown him that she could handle imps from Nightmare Hell, so long as they stayed close together. And this was what she wanted, however mad it may be. 

Lucifer sighed. “You are my consort,” he said, and slanted his eyes at her. “If—that is, if you want to be,” he added, fumbling. What he really wanted was to say Queen, but he thought she might freak out at that one. As it was, she looked surprised.

“Yeah, that’s fine,” she told him with a smile that tugged at his heart. _Ohh_ —he did like that. His consort. His wonderful, clever consort. 

He basked for a second, and then continued. “That means you outrank every poser we’re going to meet, including Rowena herself. Eligos will show up – they’re the Viceroy for the Eighth Circle. They’ll try to charm you. Don’t be charmed. Everyone’s place is to be afraid of you.”

“Afraid?” Chloe asked.

Lucifer nodded. This was rather important, actually. “It’s Hell, darling. Kindness is a rarity, and you’re human, and alive. You mustn’t be scared. It is their place to be scared, not yours. Do you understand?”

“Sounds exhausting,” she said regarding him thoughtfully, but she didn’t argue. She was going to let him take the lead after all, as he let her take the lead on cases. 

He smiled at her. She was right, of course. “You’ve no idea.” He reached out and tucked a stray bit of hair behind her ear.

She smiled back, wry. “Whatever you need.”

“Be warned,” he said, “This Hell is full of imps.”

“I know.” She hated imps, poor brave love. She was visibly steeling herself. 

But he nodded at her, because he knew she wouldn't back down. “Surgat! What’s the hold up?”

Surgat clipped the last clip. He tugged on something, some strap on the chariot, testing, and then stepped back. The cats raked their claws on the wood floor and shifted their wings. The demon bowed. “We are ready, my liege,” he said.

Lucifer offered a hand to Chloe. “Shall we?”

“We shall.” She put her hand in his, delicately. He helped her up into the green chariot, and then stepped up into it himself. Surgat scrambled up into the driver’s seat.

“Mush,” said Lucifer. Chloe snorted. 

Surgat clicked his teeth and the cats hurtled out of the stable and into the morning at a run; with a powerful beat of their great wings, they were airborne. Finding a gate to Hell was quick work: apparently, they were all over here, because of course they were. They dived, down and down, and Chloe inched closer to him. He wrapped an arm around her waist.

The world went dark and red. “Abandon all hope,” Lucifer murmured into Chloe’s hair. It was indeed what was written on the gates of Hell, at least at home, though that idiot Dante had published it. Pretentious old fool.

“Lucifer,” Chloe murmured seriously. “This is one of the reasons why I wanted to come. Look.” She pulled back a little and showed him: she’d stolen a steak knife from the bunker.

“What’s that?” Lucifer asked, stupidly, because it was obviously a knife.

“Not special. It’s just a knife from the kitchen. I wanted to see—” She dug the point into her palm. Lucifer moved to stop her, but too late.

His hand stilled. There wasn’t any blood. She raised her eyebrow at him. “It happened on the way here, remember? In Daydream Hell. I cut my hand on Castiel’s feathers, but it wasn’t as bad as it should have been, and it healed right up.”

“Give me that,” Lucifer muttered. She passed him the knife and he dug the point into his palm, too. It behaved normally – that is, his skin didn’t break. This close to Chloe, he should have been sporting a cut. “That’s strange,” he said. Fairly certain it wouldn’t hurt her, he poked her arm with it, though far too gently to cause a wound even on a regular day. She rolled her eyes and took the knife from him, jabbed her arm harder. He winced, concerned for her, but there was no cut.

“Can it turn off?” she asked. “You’re—vulnerability around me. I mean, does it turn off in Hell?”

“Or reverse?” Lucifer returned. “On Earth I become more like you, and in Hell you become more like—me?”

They blinked at each other. “That’s—something,” said Chloe, looking shocked.

“Let’s not test it,” Lucifer said darkly.

Chloe laughed nervously. “Yeah, let’s not.”

This Hell was all darkness. They descended through a nest of chains, souls hung and wailing from them. When Lucifer looked down from the chariot it became apparent that there weren’t circles here; it looked like nobody had ever bothered to maintain them, and they’d all slammed into each other at some point[2], creating a Hell that was all in one plain. It was horrifying to see and fundamentally _wrong_ , fundamentally malformed. This Hell was jumbled and screwed up, cracks and fissures exhaling steam everywhere, and red light flickered from below. The lava wasn’t contained to one circle, and it didn’t have grates to control it. Instead, it flared up, here and there, engulfing things unpredictably. Lightning raged from the sky. There was no order to the place. It just seethed and ate, like a fungus devouring. It was disgusting.

Lucifer saw no monsters below, at least. Had they all been overwhelmed by imps? Could be. There were billions of them here; he could feel it. Some of them soared in the air behind them, cackling, bodyless and wingless.

Just try, he thought at them furiously. Just try possessing Chloe. Go on. I dare you.

None of them tried[3].

Surgat looked back at Lucifer. His eyes were wide with horror. “M’lord, there’s no circles! No Ninth Circle! Beggin’ your pardon, my king, I don’t know where to go!”

About time he noticed.

Lucifer stood up.

“Lucifer,” hissed Chloe.

“Might as well make use of those imps,” said Lucifer, shrugging. “We are all on the same Side, aren’t we?” He smiled at her, a little more fiercely than usual.

She smiled back, tentative, trusting. He knew she was frightened and trying not to be; the supernatural did not agree with her, and especially not imps. She was making an admirable attempt to learn for him, though, and it made him feel rather warm. Chloe trying was twice as good as anyone else trying—she had it, really. She understood it far better than he had expected. Of course, she always exceeded his expectations. Chloe would be an absolutely fabulous Queen, he thought with a pang. Not that he would ever trap her in Hell, of course. But a fantasy never hurt anyone, right?

Lucifer turned back to the imps following behind them. He whistled at them, bastardized Enochian, a sound Azazel made to his troops sometimes. Sure enough, four of them wavered in the air in shock.

There had been an Azazel here, after all. “ _Atten-tion!”_ Lucifer called, still imitating Azazel. It was weird, warped Enochian; he wasn’t sure if Lilim existed here, since there were no Lesser Demons. Azazel had made his own kind of Hellish dialect that he used with his troops.

_He’s dead he’s dead he’s dead,_ whispered about half of the imps following them. The other half, clearly younger, didn’t know what to make of it. 

_“Dead but not forgotten!”_ Lucifer called, in that same dialect. The idea of a dead Azazel did kind of make his stomach clench. He needed Azazel. Azazel was his general. Azazel was the cleverest fellow he had in Hell[4], and not bad company, for all that he was a little sick. Everyone in Hell was a little sick, a little messed up in the head. He’d been by Lucifer’s side since long before the Fall. Lucifer had been his nestmom, long ago. He’d sulked in Lucifer’s wings when his first pinfeathers grew in, alternatively itchy and stinging.

He was fond of Azazel, vicious though he may be.

Whatever. His Azazel wasn’t dead.

“Who can lead me and mine to Rowena, Queen of Hell? Free trip to Earth to the one who volunteers first.” It was easy to satisfy imps. All they ever wanted was something to destroy; he could bring one to Earth, let it fly in a circle and then exorcise it right back to Hell. He never said it could _stay_ on Earth.

“Lucifer,” hissed Chloe.

“Relax,” muttered Lucifer. He winked at her, and she sat back[5].

Mentioning Azazel and promising a vacation seemed to work; one imp soared forward, great and dark. It gazed at Lucifer skeptically out of its plucked and desecrated eyes. “ _Beni takip et_ ,” it said, in Turkish. _Follow me._ It was old, that imp. 

Lucifer gestured for Surgat to follow. He sat back down.

“There we are!” he said. “We have a guide and an entourage, now.” He gestured to the great black cloud of demony smoke behind them.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Chloe said anxiously. “They’re imps.”

He didn’t like to see her worried. “I know you don’t like imps, darling,” he murmured. “And these run wild. It’s alright. We’re in Hell. It’s a homefield advantage.” He looked into her worried face, and then leaned forward to knock his forehead against hers. “Worst comes to worst we paradox them to kingdom come, hmm? Be brave, my love.” This last he added softly, sincerely. Demons thought love was a weakness, by and large, but that was to their advantage: these demons would never see a paradox coming. Still, didn’t do for them to even begin to think Chloe was the weak one.

She pressed her forehead to his for a moment before pulling back. She sat up straighter. “Always,” she said. Her trust made his heart twist.

She shouldn’t be here. Why had he agreed to this? Bloody Hell.

The entourage jeered behind them, but it didn’t matter, really. Their guide led them, unerringly, to what indeed looked like a palace. There were huge statues in the side, carved to form columns to make the whole thing look grand: Lucifer recognized them. They were Fallen, Greater Demons. The only ones remaining, perhaps? Castiel had said that Greater Demons were rare here. He recognized Azazel, Asmodeus and—was that Dagon? Since when did Dagon squirm into the upper tiers? That moron was middle management at home. Crowley’s boss, back in the day. Weird universe.

Also—Remiel was there too, carved out of stone. That was disturbing. 

Lucifer gulped, shaken. Remi hadn’t Fallen, at home. She’d come close, really close, but she hadn’t. Apparently, that wasn’t the case, here.

He shook himself out of it.

“Go down and fetch her!” Lucifer called to their guide. “Tell her Daydream Lucifer soars at her doorstep and wishes to treat! It’s impolite to go barging in, after all.”

Their guide roared downward in a cloud of black smoke. Obediently, Surgat turned the cats to soar around the palace. Lucifer was eyeing it, looking for who might have built it, and how, and how well—when Chloe hissed a gasp next to him.

As Surgat turned the chariot, the imps surged to them, a great stormy black cloud. Her eyes had gone wide.

“ _Lucifer_ ,” she hissed, clearly freaked out.

Lucifer offered a hand. “Never fear, darling. May I have this dance?”

Poor Chloe. Usually, she showed no fear; this must be bringing back memories. Her last run in with a great number of imps had been highly unpleasant, but they hadn’t been together, and they hadn’t been prepared. Time to remind her of how strong she was. 

She sized his hand.

Oooh—it was like the best kind of shivers. Sweetness, like and entirely unlike an orgasm. This was just a little paradox, barely more than a warning: white light flashed from their joined hands. Surgat choked, but Surgat was a Lesser Demon, powerful enough to withstand a little burn like this. The imps, on the other hand, shrieked and scattered, having never seen anything like it before.

Chloe chuckled as they let the paradox fade. “That worked,” she said, far more cheerful. Good.

“Of course it worked,” he scoffed. “They’re just imps.”

“Just imps,” she said, and grinned, confidence restored. “Noted.”

He grinned back at her, rather stupidly. Little bitty paradox high. Lovely. He could tell by her smile that she felt it too, and pulled her close, feeling affectionate. She leaned easily on his shoulder. It was still a thrill that she accepted gestures like that, that closeness, and he thrummed quietly at her, pleased, nosing at her hair. She took his hand and twined their fingers. Surgat grumbled in Lilim, rubbing what looked like a sunburn on the back of his neck. Whoops. Worth it.

There was a fanfair below them. Surgat turned the chariot again so they could see: imps spilled out of the castle doors, and following them, Queen Rowena herself. The Turkish imp howled back up to Lucifer.

Right.

He carefully picked up Chloe’s kitchen knife. It was easy enough to trap the imp inside once it got close.

“Free ride to Earth,” he told Chloe, who blinked to him. “Never said how. Or that I’d let it run wild.”

She smiled at him.

“Anyway,” Lucifer added, leaning forward to put the knife on the floor. “Surgat, touch down. Make it look impressive, will you?”

“Of course, my king,” Surgat drawled. He clicked to the cats. “Sit back, please.”

Lucifer sat back. Chloe did too, eyebrows raised. They still kept holding hands and it was marvelous. “Make it look impressive?” she echoed.

“They don’t have hellcats here,” Lucifer grinned at her. “Or if they do, they’re not domesticated. I’m certain of it; Mammon spent years working with them at home. Let’s show off my kingdom’s wealth, shall we?”

Chloe’s eyes gleamed and she pressed her shoulder against his proudly. He grinned at her, unable to quite help himself, as Surgat brought them down, down to treat with the foreign Queen of a foreign Hell. 

\--------------------------

[1] To everyone but Dean. Dean’s mystery was where his secret stash of jerky went.

[2]The Fall—or rather the Landing—had made Hell unstable. In Daydream Hell, Lucifer and his demons had tried to repair the damage. Marbas was alive and tasked with keeping the place spinning. It did a pretty good job. In Nightmare Hell… Marbas was rather dead, and so were nearly all the Greater Demons. The imps liked the chaos, and Hell had screeched to a grinding, hideous halt. 

[3] Things Lucifer didn’t realize: they had. Right away. Down here, she was like him, and it couldn’t be done. They couldn’t even get close.

[4] This wasn’t saying much.

[5] She really hoped he wasn’t going to just—set some Nightmare imp free to torment people on this poor world. He seemed to have a plan though, so there was that.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now your (mostly) regularly scheduled Wednesday update! Will get to replies tomorrow :D

The chariot took a turn, banking, letting the hellcats really stretch their huge wings, beautiful and spotted in the shadows of Hell. They came about, and then descended, steep and perfectly controlled. They clattered gently onto the cobblestones, the cats touching down at a run, long legs moving in synch, and then slowing to a stop right beside the Nightmare Queen and her great entourage of attending demons. Lucifer kissed the back of Chloe’s hand and then dropped it, regrettably.

“Well met, Queen Rowena!” Lucifer called.

Rowena stood flanked by at least twenty attending demons, like a sapphire amongst them and their shabby shadows. She looked splendid in a blue gown, her neck dripping with jewels, red hair elaborately styled. She smiled like a succubus[1]. “King Lucifer of Daydream World,” she purred, “What a _lovely_ surprise. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I want to make a deal with you,” Lucifer said lightly. He slipped down form the chariot, and then offered Chloe his hand. He smiled at her encouragingly.

She took a fortifying breath, and then his hand, letting him steady her as she reached the ground. She showed no fear otherwise, instead watching Rowena curiously.

“A deal! How marvelous. And who’s this?” Rowena eyed Chloe right back, but with a little too much hunger for Lucifer’s liking[2].

“This is my consort,” Lucifer said, relishing it a little. “The Detective. Still living, so I shan’t be giving you her name. No offence meant, of course; we have some strange rules at home.” This was the knife’s edge of a lie: names didn’t matter so much at home unless you were a Hellhound, but they mattered to the fae a great deal, and also to witches. Lucifer wasn’t sure if those rules applied, but he would take no chances with Chloe.

“Oh, we don’t have any such rules here,” said Rowena, smiling[3].

And then Chloe surprised him. Head held high, she smiled back, sharp as a knife, and said, “All the same. It’s a pleasure to meet you, your majesty.” She even curtsied! She wasn’t even wearing skirts and she still pulled it off splendidly. Lucifer resisted the urge to beam at her. Where had she learned to do that?

Rowena chuckled. “You’ve got a wee spine! Excellent. What deal brings you all the way to Nightmare World, Lucifer Morningstar[4]?”

Around them, the imps who took on human form, her escort, her court, shifted uneasily at his name. Those that were shadows, bodiless, whispered and shuddered, like leaves in the wind. That was interesting. They looked—afraid. Not of her: of him.

Very interesting.

“I need certain items to pass from my world into yours,” Lucifer said. “I also need some items from this Hell. My deal is this: each of the items my envoy will bring is rare or nonexistent in your world. They can conduct powerful magics.” As expected, he saw her eyes spark with interest. Witches were all the same. “I will bring double the amount I need, and you will get a share, for your personal use, in exchange for safe passage. Do we have a deal?” The last thing they needed was to get ambushed by zillions of imps while they were trying to get their supplies from home. It really wasn't worth it to try to do this in secret; he was exhausted just thinking about being _captured_ and then brought before this ridiculous Queen and all the procedures that would happen, had the situation been reversed. Anyway, the whole point of a King or Queen of Hell was to keep the denizens under control, or at least some semblance of control. Hopefully Rowena could at least do _that,_ despite the fact that her Hell was completely broken. 

She cocked her head at him. “What sort of items?”

“The spine of an erinacon. I imagine they are extinct here, given the state of your circles. Iron-breaker, a root that can break chains. Among other things.” 

“They aren’t extinct,” said Rowena thoughtfully[5]. “But they are uncommon. What is the spell?”

Clever. “That’ll cost you,” Lucifer said, playful.

She laughed. “Aren’t you a bold one! What will it cost me?”

“Fireflower,” said Lucifer. “Three of them.”

“Done[6]. Erasmus!”

A demon stepped forward.

“Bring me three fireflowers for my esteemed guest,” she said. The imp bowed, and then poofed into that creepy black smoke, and soared off. “Well?” she asked Lucifer.

“The spell is a summoning spell,” said Lucifer, lightly. “Highly specialized. Frightfully difficult, you see. Don’t worry: it has nothing to do with your Hell, or this universe, really, besides incidentally saving it. I’m working with the Winchesters, by the by: they send their best.”

“The Winchesters!” Rowena laughed. “My dear friends! Do send them my regards as well, would you? I can help you, you know,” she added[7], “I’m the greatest witch this word has ever seen.”

Chloe snorted, before Lucifer could say anything.

“Yes?” Rowena said, turning gimlet eyes to Chloe.

Chloe looked at Lucifer. This meant that what she wanted to say was probably rude and she was censoring herself, or she would have just said it. He beamed at her. _Say the rude thing, Chloe!_ He loved it when she was rude!

“It’s a bit much, though,” said Chloe, almost apologetically. “The greatest witch this world has ever seen? You really expect me to believe that?”

Lucifer laughed merrily. “She’s not wrong,” he told Rowena. “Though I can see that you are a fine witch.”

Rowena sniffed, pretending to be offended. It didn’t last, though; Lucifer grinned at her. “Tell me,” he purred, “What is it that you desire, dear witch?”

She blinked at him. She swayed. “Oh---” she whispered, like she knew exactly what he was doing. That was odd. “Clever—” she said faintly, “Clever, clever—I’m not so easily—”

“No,” Lucifer said, “You’re a complicated one, I see. I like the complicated ones. You can tell me.”

Rowena swayed. Ohhhh, she fought him, and she fought him hard. Like a fish on a line, he reeled her in, growing more fascinated the more she resisted. “Safety,” she said at last, and it was dragged out of her, unwilling. “Protection. I mustn’t ever see your face again.” A flash of naked fear in her eyes.

Lucifer released her, grimacing. “He showed you his face?”

She glared at him, good humor gone. “A terrible thing.”

“Yes,” said Lucifer, serious. “It is. I won’t show it to you. I really meant it, when I said I wanted us to be allies. I have vast armies the likes of which this Hell has never seen. This is not a threat. It is an offer of assistance, should you so need it. I expect the same in return[8].”

Rowena took a moment to compose herself. Her eyes were cold, though, the friendly mask gone entirely. “A generous offer,” she said haughtily. “What do you get out of the deal?”

“Monsters from this world have leaked into mine,” said Lucifer. “I’m sure creatures from mine are wandering around your Hell, too. Giant worms, likely[9]. These things are easier to contain if we work together.”

She pursed her lips[10]. “I’ll think on it. In the meanwhile: never do that to me again.” She glared at him. He could see the fear in her eyes; the other Lucifer had done a number on her.

But fear had meaning in Hell. He knew it, and so did she. He’d explained it to Chloe, even. He’d won this round. Best to play nice now, lest Rowena lash out and try to gain back the upper hand.

He’d played this game for millennia. Dad, but it was boring.

He inclined his head. “Very well. Will you let my envoy, Eligos, through with those supplies? My offer is more than generous: you will get a share of everything we bring.”

Rowena’s eyes were calculating. “I want everything labeled,” she said[11].

“Eligos is very thorough,” Lucifer said cheerfully[12].

“Very well,” she said. “You have a deal.”

“Excellent!” said Lucifer. “Now there are two cracks from my Hell to yours. Will you show me where they are?”

Rowena pursed her lips. “It’ll cost you.”

She was a clever thing, he thought, amused. Lucifer cocked his head.

“I want a cat,” she said, nodding to the chariot. Surgat, sitting in it and picking at his nails with a knife, looked up nervously. For all his faults, Surgat did love those cats, and to separate a bonded pair like that was horrid thing to do. They were monogamous, more monogamous than humans, even. Both would waste away with the separation, and they’d tear off any limb within reach in the meanwhile.

Lucifer hummed. He might have done it if the cats weren’t his transport; frankly, giving Rowena an unruly animal that would die on her might be to his advantage. But he needed Surgat and the cats for transportation, so it wasn’t worth it.

“I could do that,” he said, “But these cats come in pairs, you see; they’re vicious when you separate them and cannot be tamed. This deal isn’t worth two cats. However, I can get you a steed. A hunter-horse. Do you have those here?”

“No,” said Rowena. “I’m listening.”

“Mane and tail of flame, hooves that strike sparks, and sharp, carnivore teeth,” Lucifer said cajolingly. “If I give you a foal, you can hand raise it, and it’ll be loyal to you ‘til the end of time. They are wonderful fighters[13].”

Rowena thought about this[14]. “Very well.”

“Color preference for the flames?” Lucifer asked, playful. “Red, blue or green?”

Rowena laughed. “Green. Brings out my eyes.”

“Excellent. Detective?” Lucifer offered her his arm, and she took it, letting him hand her up into the chariot.

“My demon will lead the way,” Rowena said[15].

“Pleasure doing business with you!” Lucifer said lightly. “I’ll send the supplies with your imp, and the horse with a Lesser Demon.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” purred Rowena. She clapped her hands. “Erasmus!”

There was a howl of black smoke, and the imp landed in the chariot, human-shaped and standing, with a gap-toothed grin.

Chloe, startled by its nearness, glared. “Move over,” she told the imp. There was no fear in her voice, though Lucifer saw it in her clenched fist.

“Do give her some space,” Lucifer said, and he let his eyes flash red. “You won’t like her when she’s angry. My flowers?”

Wordless, Erasmus held out a rather small burlap sack.

“Oh, he’s cursed,” Rowena said lightly from the ground. “Had a habit of talking back. Now he can’t speak at all.”

“Huh,” said Lucifer. He took the sack and peered inside: three fireflowers, glowing brilliant purple, as promised. “Handy.” He nodded to Surgat. “Queen Rowena, it’s been a pleasure, as always.”

She curtsied deeply. “The pleasure is all mine.”

Surgat clucked at the cats, and they spun in a circle before taking three running steps and spreading their great wings, lifting the chariot up and away.

\-----------------------------------

[1] Rowena had no heart to pound, being dead, but she was not pleased at all that Lucifer, any Lucifer, had darkened her bloody doorstep.

[2] Was that a weakness Rowena smelled? Interesting, interesting.

[3] They definitely did have those rules here. Damn him, Rowena thought.

[4] _And how do I bloody well send you back?_

[5] This was a lie; Rowena was very intrigued because she had no idea what an erinacon was. She did know what iron-breaker was, though, and it was frightfully rare. It was also something she abruptly wanted very badly. Something like that could be incredibly useful.

[6] She grew those by the bushel in her garden; it was like asking for a dandelion.

[7] Well, if the Winchesters were involved, then it was certainly dangerous, and certainly stupid, and there was quite a lot for her to gain. She wanted in, even if Lucifer made her tremble, just a little, with well-hidden terror.

[8] Not that he needed the assistance of a bunch of imps. What he did want was a promise that those imps wouldn’t sneak into his world anymore, and if they did, he wanted someone to keep them in check when he threw them back into Nightmare World. Nightmare imps were practically rabid; he didn’t want them in his Hell.

[9] Bloody Eighth Circle.

[10] Those worms were quite troublesome.

[11] Because she probably didn’t know what half of the things were. Which was, frankly, delightful. Working with any sort of Lucifer was awful, but this really was a good deal. He seemed different from the other, but the other was a master manipulator, so who even knew. Frankly, the quicker she could get rid of him, the better. He was making her court nervous—and nervous meant traitorous, in Hell.

[12] Eligos was thorough to the point of compulsion. It was annoying. The worst part of this was that it translated to sex but in a bad way: Eligos didn’t really understand that some organs wanted more attention than others and tended to pay the same attention to everything. It got creepy and weird. Fellatio only worked well in some places. It was weird when someone did it to your nose.

[13] There were a gazillion hunter-horses in Daydream Hell. They ran free in great packs in Circle Four and Circle Two, devouring the unwary. This was a bargain. Lucifer never said it had to be a warhorse from _his_ stables. He’d send someone he didn’t like, like Hastur, out to get him a wild filly, as young as he could find, from a small mare. That’d do the trick. 

[14] She thought to ask for two or even three, but really who knew what these creatures even were? One would do.

[15] She very badly wanted to ride in the chariot, and she knew that she should go with him to be sure that he held up his end of the deal, but not for love or money would she sit close to Lucifer, to any Lucifer. The horse deal sounded lovely—too lovely. Still, she’d accept the beast; it might be useful in other ways.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! so my life has gotten really busy lately (good busy!! But still busy) so replies and chapters may be slow. I'm going to do my best to reply to everyone from the last chapter tonight, but if I don't get to you I STILL LOVE YOU, life is just nuts!! :D

“Let’s do this quickly, Surgat,” Lucifer said as they climbed higher. Any Queen of Hell worth her salt would double cross them, and he wanted out of here before she tried.

“Oh good, so it’s not just me?” Chloe muttered.

“No, darling, of course not. For instance, I doubt you are truly cursed.” He poked at Erasmus.

Erasmus was pointing the way for Surgat. He said nothing. He raised his creepy vessel’s eyebrows, though. He definitely wasn’t cursed.

Lucifer nudged the bag of fireflowers at his feet with a toe. He could feel the enchantment on them in his bones. “And the flowers have a geas on them, too. Nothing I can’t remove, of course, but still. She’s very good, your Queen.” He looked back into Erasmus’ eyes. “But I’m better. You’re a human soul. Sit down. Tell me, what is it that you desire?”

The imp sat, slowly. He stared. He quivered. And then he broke like a tissue in a rainstorm; imps were easy to control. “I want to rule Hell as Queen Rowena’s consort,” he blurted.

“Imps,” Lucifer drawled at a wide-eyed Chloe, showing off a bit. They always wanted to be king or queen or whatever. None of them had any idea of what the job actually entailed. Chloe didn’t seem impressed by him--more alarmed by the imp--more’s the pity. “What do you really want?” Lucifer pressed.

“The livers of my enemies, laid out to dry in the hot sun.”

“Amateur,” muttered Lucifer. “That would never work; viscera doesn’t dry nicely. It would just rot.”

“Lucifer,” hissed Chloe.

“And eyes,” Erasmus added, wistful, “I want to add to my collection of eyes…”

“Impractical. Unless preserved properly, eyes rot too,” said Lucifer, sighing. “Alright, so you’re an imp and therefore not very interesting. What does Rowena want with us?”

“Information,” Erasmus said. “How to kill you.”

“Rude,” said Lucifer. “I’ve been nothing but friendly!”

“Why?” This was Chloe, leaning forward. Detective to her core, he thought proudly. Though freaked out, she was still thinking. “Why kill him?”

“He’s a threat to Hell,” said Erasmus, like this was obvious. “The demons will follow him at the exclusion of all others. It’s what happened last time Lucifer walked our halls.”

“That cretin’s ruining things for me from beyond the grave,” Lucifer said, rolling his eyes. “You tell your Queen that I don’t want her broken Hell; I’m perfectly miserable with my Hell, which at least functions, as well as Hell can function. By the way, do let her know that a human soul physically cannot rule my Hell; bad things happen. Speaking of, have you heard from our Lilith, by any chance?”

“Lilith was killed by Sam Winchester to open the final Seal to Lucifer’s cage,” said Erasmus. “She was resurrected by God in some sort of exchange.”

“Wait,” said Lucifer. “Your Lilith, or my Lilith?”

“This Lilith. You’d call her—Nightmare Lilith. She said God made a trade for her. He resurrected her.”

“He traded Daydream Lilith for Nightmare Lilith, that absolute—!” snarled Lucifer. He didn’t have a word strong enough. Not that he particularly liked Lilith, but it was the principle of the thing. “Why?”

“She was to convince the Winchester brothers to kill each other. Michael killed her instead.”

“Good riddance,” spat Lucifer. “Waste of two perfectly good Liliths.” He could think of several fun things to do with two perfectly good Liliths. On the other hand—two of them. The schemes would never end. Probably for the better, then.

Still. Lilith had been a thorn in his side for all of human history. She was annoying, but she was part of his court. It was a great loss, when an immortal soul was unmade, even if he was going to throw her into a volcano or feed her to a monster. You still existed after something like that; it was miserable, but that was the point. He wasn’t going to _destroy_ her. They didn’t—they didn’t do that. There were some lines that one simply didn’t cross, except in extremely extenuating circumstances.

She had tried to hurt Chloe and the urchin, though. That was extenuating. Maybe he would have unmade her.

He didn’t want to think about it. Unmaking was unpleasantly permanent business. Long ago and far away, he had raged and raged -- that unmaking was even possible, that Father would allow such a horror. He’d ordered Maze to unmake that imp, a few years ago, in the heat of the moment. It had attempted to possess Beatrice.

He should have fed it to the Malebolge instead. Really made it suffer. There wasn’t any suffering in unmaking, really, just—gone. It was wrong. He’d done it in the heat of the moment; it had been rash. He didn’t want to become the kind of monster that just erased people like that. That role should be reserved solely for Dad. That beast had tried to hurt the smallest of his humans, but he should have done something different.

The chariot started to descend. “We’re coming upon the crack, my king,” said Surgat. Erasmus twitched. Whatever.

Chloe rested a hand on his arm. He managed a smile for her and patted her knuckles. She wouldn’t ask if he was alright, not with Erasmus here. But she was checking in on him anyway. He loved her.

That unmaking had been worth it, he decided abruptly, gazing into her eyes. To protect Chloe, to protect Beatrice—he could never regret that. It had been gruesome and wrong, but worth it.

The chariot touched down on a rocky, mostly deserted plain. Above them, lightning crashed, illuminating chains in the darkness. There were souls up in the stormy sky somehow, bound to nothing, insubstantial as fog. They’d flown right through them. In the silence, when the cats’ wings stopped beating, Lucifer could hear the moans, just a little.

Everyone got the same, horrid torture, he realized, looking up in to the nest of insubstantial chains in the lightning touched sky. How unoriginal. It was insulting, to those souls up there, that they got the same torture. At least at home it was personalized in the Loops, in the circles. This was just shoddy management. Where were the Loops, anyway? He hadn’t seen any since they came in.

“Erasmus,” he said, “Where are the Loops?”

“What Loops?” the imp said. Lucifer made a disgusted sound.

“What Loops? What do you mean, _what Loops_? Loops are Hell’s bread and butter! Hell cannot—function—without Loops!” Even as he said it, he realized his error.

Hell couldn’t function without Loops. This Hell didn’t function. Ergo, this Hell had no Loops.

Of course.

“Never mind,” he said in disgust. “This Hell is not my problem.” He hopped off the chariot and offered a hand to Chloe. “Coming, darling?”

“You’re going to explain this Loop thing to me,” Chloe said, taking his hand. He helped her down.

“Of course.” As he watched, Erasmus tried to hijack their chariot. Surgat lunged at him with a snarl and wrestled him down. As if Surgat, a Lesser Demon, wasn’t ten times as strong as some random imp. It was like watching a baby bird try to wrestle a Rottweiler. “Cute,” Lucifer added, to Erasmus. “Don’t break him, Surgat, we’ll need him to carry stuff back. But you can have fun, if you like; you’ve earned it.”

Surgat chuckled darkly.

“Lucifer?” hissed Chloe.

“Demons,” said Lucifer. He squeezed her hand and tugged her to the crack. The crack, at least, was familiar, dark and ominous and twisted. Chloe followed, frowning.

“How is that okay?” she asked. “He tried to steal our—our Hellcats! We could have been stranded here!” There was absolute horror in her voice, and not a small amount of fear. She should not be afraid of a busybody like Erasmus, Lucifer thought with a pang. He squeezed her hand again.

“Demons,” Lucifer repeated. “I figured he’d make a grab for it. Surgat’s a Lesser Demon, though. He could eat that imp for breakfast. At this point, he’s just playing. He needs to blow off some steam anyway, darling. You’ve met Maze. She gets antsy if she hasn’t stabbed anything for too long. Same goes with other Lesser Demons. Besides, we won’t be stranded. I can fly us out of we need it, remember?”

That seemed to reassure her. “He’s not going to—to beat Surgat up?” said Chloe.

“Nah. That’s like your average child taking down Maze.”

“This just keeps getting weirder,” Chloe muttered.

“Wait ‘til you meet Eligos,” Lucifer said dryly. He squeezed her hand again. “Ready?”

“Who’s Eligos, again?”

“My Viceroy,” Lucifer said. “In charge of the Eighth Circle. Rather like a governor. Impersonated a bishop in the late fifth century, and then a nun, some years later. Eligos likes to expose fraud, you see. Had a grand old time, until Raphael sent them running back to Hell. Terrible brownnoser, by the way.”

“Seriously?” Chloe blurted.

Lucifer shrugged.

“It’s just--” she swallowed. “So strange. That you have a whole—kingdom. I mean, I knew you had a kingdom, but seeing it is—different[1]. You have _legions_ , you said.”

Lucifer shrugged again. “We conquered Hell, back in the day,” he said. “Cleared it of monsters, so we could live there. Nobody dies in Hell, Detective. Those legions are still there.”

“You’re really a king,” she breathed.

“Not by choice, my dear,” he replied. He’d fought for the title, of course, but that had been out of necessity. Couldn’t have some sicko like Byleth running the place, after all. 

Chloe took a breath and seemed to center herself. “Yeah. Yeah, okay. Go call Eligos, or however you do it.”

Lucifer laughed. “Oh, it’s simple really!” He pulled her over to the dark, twisting hole, one of two that Door had missed. It was an ugly thing, that crack in reality and nothing like what Jack had produced. A horrid creature like Islington could only create ugly things, Lucifer thought scornfully. “Eligos is just on the other side. I had them wait. OH, ELIGOS!” he bellowed.

Chloe laughed. “Seriously?”

“ELIGOOOOOOOS!” Lucifer shouted again.

“One moment, my king!” called another voice. A familiar voice. A stupid voice. 

“Belial, _what_ are you doing here?” Lucifer sighed.

“I sent Eligos to the other hole, my king, for I feared you would be at that one! One moment; I will fetch them!” Through the crack, Lucifer heard Belial’s wings flapping clumsily as he rushed to take off. He rolled his eyes. 

“Idiot,” muttered Lucifer. “Why. Why am I saddled with him? I thought he was Crowley’s problem now.”

Chloe chuckled. “Like you said,” she said, “Nobody dies or goes away, in Hell.” She grinned at him. “That’s why it’s Hell, right?”

Lucifer groaned theatrically. Chloe's grin widened. In truth, he was pleased that she could joke about Hell, even if she _was_ being a cruel, cruel mistress.

It took some time before the sound of wings returned on the other side of the hole, louder this time. “My king,” panted Eligos as they approached. “Forgive me I was—misinformed—” Of course Eligos would never call Belial the idiot that he was, because Belial outranked Eligos. There was a flutter as they landed. 

“Just—come through, Viceroy,” Lucifer said, rolling his eyes. “And put your wings away; they have a few—regrettable—properties here in Nightmare World. Bring the stuff, too. Belial, stay on that side, you twit.”

He could practically hear Belial shuffling his feet. But Eligos stepped through, elegant and slim as always, holding that silly scepter. That thing had all kinds of magics in it, Lucifer knew. It was shaped like a snake, with one ruby eye and one emerald one. It was a formidable weapon, really, and Eligos needed it, to defend that ridiculous worm.

Eligos waved that scepter as soon as they walked through into Nightmare Hell. A great creature followed, holding a cloth in its teeth like a stork carrying a baby, except it wasn’t a stork at all. It looked like an enormous, awkwardly proportioned gharial, with long upright legs like a dinosaur. It was a drake, one of the semi-aquatic ones, the kind that hunted on the shores of the Eighth Circle. Female, by coloration and the shape of her nose. In her long, thin jaws was that large cloth, folded in half, like there was a baby inside. Of course, there was no baby: inside were erinacon spines, and the iron-breaker. Eligos, overachiever that they were, had stuffed it full. 

Chloe gripped Lucifer’s arm tightly. He looked over at her and saw that she’d gone dead white.

“Oh, you mustn’t worry,” he told her earnestly when he realized what had frightened her. “That’s a drake. This one won’t hurt you. They’re wickedly intelligent, aren’t you, my beauty?” He smiled at the drake, who regarded him with flashing eyes. “Eligos is most definitely paying for her service, aren’t you, Viceroy?”

“Of course, my king,” Eligos said, bowing. “If I may ask, who is--?” Eligos had funny, violet eyes. They were fixed on Chloe, bright with interest. It was the demon kind of interest, not the good kind, but Lucifer would soon change that. 

“That is up to you,” Lucifer told Chloe, lightly. “Things in this Hell don’t matter; in our Hell, regrettably, they do. Pick your title, dear.”

Chloe gaped at him and seemed to search for her voice. “Seriously?” It came out a little high pitched. Still worried about the drake, was she[2]? It was a perfectly lovely drake!

“Yes.” He looked deep in her eyes. “Anything you want, except king, of course.” He smiled.

Lilith would have shrieked Queen from the rooftops. Hell, most people would. But Chloe carefully caught her breath, closed her eyes, and deliberated[3]. “Can it change? In the future, I mean.”

“Of course,” Lucifer said. “I’m hardly going to lock you in.”

Chloe nodded to herself. She took another deep breath and visibly calmed herself. “Then I’m his consort,” she said. “I’d rather not give my name while we’re still standing in Nightmare Hell.”

Eligos gasped loudly. They looked to Lucifer. Lucifer inclined his head. “My consort,” he said. His heart vibrated in his chest with delight. His consort! She’d chosen to be his consort! In meant more in his Hell than in this one, and she had chosen it! That was second best to Queen, and she’d never go for that!

“My lady,” breathed Eligos, sinking down to an elegant kneel on one knee. There it was--the brownnosing. That was a better kind of interest than the hungry demon kind. 

“Oh,” said Chloe, clearly unsure of what to do.

The drake snorted steam. Gently, she lowered her burden and then also fell to a knee. “It is an honor, milady,” said the creature in a low voice, feminine and surprisingly sexy for a drake. “We have been waiting for King Lucifer to take on a consort for a long, long time.”

“Oh—you can talk,” blurted Chloe, wide eyed.

The drake laughed, soft and husky. “Yes. One day, when you come home to us, it would be my honor and my pleasure to show you the wonders of the Eighth Circle. No worms.” The last was a scoff, and she snorted at Eligos.

“Uh—thanks?” said Chloe.

“That’s very kind of you,” said Lucifer. Not that she was ever going to go _home to Hell,_ that was absurd, but he knew enough of the drakes to know that this was well intentioned. He’d always liked the drakes, since they didn’t snack on human souls or murder any of his demons. They’d signed a treaty when Lucifer took the Eighth Circle from the writhing, horrible mass of worms it had been. They weren’t servants or slaves: they lived freely, and their services had to be bought. Very civilized creatures, drakes, and they drove a hard bargain, too. 

“Tell them to rise, darling; Eligos is getting dust on their trousers and they’re very particular about those clothes. Puts me to shame, really.” He grinned at her. He was actually enjoying this. Everybody should bow to Chloe and offer her gifts, all the time.

“Oh! Yeah, you can get up,” Chloe said, flustered.

The drake rose gracefully, as did Eligos.

“My king—my _lady_ —I’ve brought what you requested, as well as extras.” Eligos gestured to the bundle lying on the ground. They looked around, up at the stormy sky, at the insubstantial chains and the wailing, ghostly souls in the sky. “But, begging your pardon, my king, why _here_?”

“Need to know information, Eligos,” Lucifer said lightly, and that was that. Lucifer always allowed questions and curiosity from his subjects[4], unlike his tyrannical Father; he just didn’t always give answers.

Eligos bowed again.

“Surgat!” Lucifer called over his shoulder. “I’ll be needing that imp now!”

Behind them, Surgat released Erasmus, who soared over to them in a whirl of black smoke, looking a bit worse for the wear. Eligos daintily wrinkled their nose.

“What,” they said, “is that.”

To Lucifer’s absolute, unadulterated delight, Chloe reached up, grabbed the black smoke by the approximation of a leg, and pulled, hard, so that Erasmus tumbled to the ground in a human-shaped heap. “This is Erasmus,” she said. “He belongs to the Queen of Nightmare Hell, Rowena. He’s going to carry some of the supplies back to her.”

Lucifer tried his damndest not to giggle with glee. As it was, he definitely had a stupid smile on his face. That was quite possibly the _best_ thing he had ever seen. Had Hell just got hotter? He was feeling flushed. “Exactly as she said. My lady drake[5]: the road here is dark and dangerous, and they will try to capture you. Are you willing to carry this idiot Erasmus and his prize back to the Queen of this terrible place?”

The drake considered it. “I want a human soul,” she said, after a moment. “In trade. Not to eat or harm. I want a slave. From the Second Circle; I want no liars of the Eighth.”

Lucifer deliberated this, and carefully didn’t show the grimace that wanted to steal across his face. Souls were not for selling, once they were in Hell. They were for Loops, or whatever punishment had been allotted to them. But the transport was important, and a drake was reliable. Perhaps he could give her a soul who really deserved it; change the allotted punishment. It was a loophole. “Tell Moloch to find her a lovely pedophile to torment,” Lucifer told Eligos. Moloch was the Viceroy of the Second Circle, of course. Lust. Interesting choice.

It was a hard bargain, because drakes always drove hard bargains. But this was important, and a drake showing up with supplies would be both a show of power and of willingness to keep a deal. He couldn’t just send Erasmus back alone; Erasmus would definitely steal from his queen and blame it on Lucifer. He didn’t want to take that risk. He couldn’t go back himself, because frankly he wanted to get himself and Chloe out of this Hell, diplomacy be damned, in every sense of the word. The drake would make it to that castle, come—well. Hell or high water. They’d definitely try to capture her, but they were imps, and she was a drake. It wasn’t like he hadn’t warned her. She was well within her rights to refuse the job. Drakes refused jobs all the time, even jobs from the king.

“Very good, my king.” Eligos bowed.

“Also, contact Mammon; I need a green-maned Hunter-horse foal. Tell him to employ Hastur of the Eighth Circle to fetch it. A gift, to a foreign queen. Be certain it cannot breed. Send it over with a willing Lesser Demon.” That was the last thing he needed, a bunch of half wild hunter-horses running around Nightmare World.

“It is done,” Eligos said.

“Good! Now load this stuff into the chariot; I’m sick of Nightmare Hell. Make sure the drake and Erasmus get some, too.”

Eligos bowed again, and then turned to the crack. They snapped their fingers; three Lesser Demons tumbled out and started loading the chariot. Lucifer watched this with some amusement.

“Just like that,” Chloe said softly at his side.

“Just like that,” Lucifer said.

“No wonder you act so high and mighty all the time,” Chloe said, but she was thoughtful, not teasing. “You’re used to this—this kind of obedience.”

Lucifer pursed his lips. “Tell you a secret,” he murmured, leaning in close.

She leaned into him, but her eyes were uncertain.

“It’s boring,” said Lucifer, very quietly, so Eligos couldn’t hear. “If they disobey, it could be doom for Earth, or for all of us, so I don’t tolerate it; Hell is prone to rebellion. But things are much more interesting at home. In LA.”

Her lips curled in a small smile. “Yeah?” she asked.

“Very much so.” He inched closer. “I also want to inform you that it was incredibly sexy when you grabbed that imp.”

Her smile grew. “Yeah?” she said, again, but more amused, and a little more confident.

“Oh, yes. Did you know you could do that?”

“I wasn’t sure it would work,” Chloe admitted. “It just looked like—smoke.”

“They are smoke. You have to get it just right. And you did it beautifully.”

Chloe swallowed. “I’m a little freaked out,” she said honestly.

“Hell is freaky,” said Lucifer. He curled an arm around her waist, and she let him. It was alright, here. He was in the company of his own minions; they wouldn’t dare think him weak for showing affection. “We’re almost done here,” he added.

She nodded. “Yeah,” she said. “Almost done.”

It didn’t take long. Eligos and their demons tied Erasmus up and laid him in the sheet the drake had originally brought over. Beside him they laid the leftover spines and iron-breaker. The drake scooped it all up in her long, slender snout. She knelt to Lucifer one last time.

“It goes to Queen Rowena,” Lucifer told her. “Erasmus will know the way. Run swiftly and safe journey, my lady drake.”

The drake rose, and snorted steam out of her nose, before taking off at a dead run. They were incredibly fast creatures, drakes.

“Eligos,” said Lucifer. “You may return to the Eighth Circle. Remember to get Rowena that foal. And remember to be certain the foal can’t breed. I want good relations between our Hells, but I don’t want our creatures running amok, understood?”

“Of course, my king.” Eligos bowed.

“Off with you,” said Lucifer, and Eligos went, obedient as always. The three Lesser Demons followed.

Lucifer tugged Chloe to the chariot. “Let’s get out of here,” he said.

“Finally!” said Chloe.

“My thoughts exactly,” said Lucifer, following her into the chariot. “Surgat! Back to that wretched bunker on Earth.”

“Of course, my king,” said Surgat. He clicked to the cats and they spread their wings, one step, two and they were airborne.

\------------------------------

[1] It kind of took ‘Prince Charming’ to whole new, ridiculous levels. Oh, your boyfriend’s king of a small nation? Nope. Mine’s King of actual Hell. What even. Focus, Chloe. 

[2] No! Not the drake, though that was—definitely a thing. He wanted her to pick her title? Seriously? She was going to kill him. What the Hell were the titles to choose from, Lucifer?? What did they mean?? Honestly.

[3] Well. Quietly freaked out. Still. Her thoughts raced, but she knew one thing – she knew what she was to him in this universe, and what it meant.

[4] Though only the ones of high rank knew this; the lower ranking demons thought he didn’t like questions. This was mostly because the higher-ranking demons, sick of questions, had told them that.

[5] Drakes didn’t have names. They were just drakes. It was a weird quirk of their society that Lucifer had yet to figure out. And he wouldn't figure it out, as far as the drakes were concerned: their names were secret. 


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY. Remember when I said character death? Hold on to your hats, you guys. 
> 
> Irregular updating is irregular. Yay? But have a nice long chapter!

The bunker was alive with activity when they got back. Sam and Jack were putting ingredients in order and studying up on the spell at the same time, while Dean paced, clearly worried. Castiel was noticeably absent.

“Honey! We’re hooooome!” Lucifer called, descending from the stairs. He had three huge erinacon spines under his arms; he heard Chloe hissing at him from behind when he whacked her with one. Oops.

“What do you have?” Sam asked, jogging out to meet them at the foot of the stairs.

“Spines of an erinacon, and iron-breaker from my Hell, as well as fireflower from this Hell. Rowena sends her regards.” Lucifer dumped the spines into a surprised Sam’s arms. He could practically hear Chloe rolling her eyes behind him, but he bounded forward anyway.

“Where’s Castiel?”

“Getting rare ingredients from the frozen wilderness or whatever,” Dean scowled. He looked very unhappy to be separated from his angel. “Hell go alright?”

“No. Your Hell is broken,” Lucifer told him dryly. “But we got everything we needed with minimal betrayal, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Dean snorted. “That’s what I’m asking.”

Lucifer watched Sam dump the spines on the world map table, each easily four feet long. Eligos had plucked out smaller spines, for ease of transport; they could get up to ten feet long, on the beast's back. Chloe carefully put the iron-breaker and the fireflowers next to them. “What else do we need?” she asked.

“Snow from the roof of the world,” Sam said. “That’s the arctic, or the Antarctic depending on how you look at it.” He smiled. “Cas is getting that. Everything else we have. Lucifer? You want to help me arrange this?”

Yeah. Yeah, he did. Dammit.

The next half hour was mostly cutting erinacon spines, to fit around each point of the twelve-pointed star in the spell. They’d cleared a spot on the floor because the damn spell was so large. Castiel came back at one point; he put his snow in the freezer, and then helped set up the other ingredients. Even Chloe took a mortar and pestle to the iron-breaker. 

It was annoying, tedious work. The spell was detailed and vicious, as only a _Book of the Damned_ spell could be. The thing was thrice damned, after all, as it was three spells in one. Lucifer took care to add Mum’s Name where it needed to be, and to clear out anything that smelled of Chaos. Castiel checked him over, pointing out a few mistakes, here and there. They were mostly missing protection runes, because apparently Crowley’s Pigeon was a grandma and liked to add protection runes everywhere[1]. Lucifer corrected everything Castiel indicated, even if they were overly cautious protection runes, without comment.

Deep in his heart of hearts, Lucifer hoped that this would work. He’d had most of the hope beaten out of him, at one point or another, but Chloe, his life in LA, had taught him to hope again, if only a little. This was Angel Network business, right? Surely this could go right if it was Angel Network business.

When they finished, finally, the floor painted, the ingredients laid out—except for the snow – Lucifer sat back.

“We should eat something first,” said Chloe. Everyone looked at her. “It’s dinner time; if this takes a while, if it works, we might not have time for dinner.”

“I’ll make something,” Dean said, gruff. “D’you like burgers?”

Chloe smiled at him. “That would be great, thanks.”

Dean got to his feet and brushed off his knees. He tilted his head, and Castiel followed him into the next room.

“Do you think this will work?” Sam asked after they were gone.

“A finding, a summoning, and a freeing,” Lucifer said. He pointed to the corresponding places. “I’ve written in Mum’s Name over everything. It should work.”

“We don’t have a body for her,” Chloe said[2].

“That’s what the erinacon spines are for,” Lucifer told her, proud that she’d figured out the body thing. “You can use them to make a sort of mannequin body, if you need to. It’s not pretty[3] but it’ll do the trick.”

“I don’t like that freeing part,” said Sam, pointing to the relevant part of the spell.

“Me neither,” sighed Lucifer. “I added a tether to this universe. She’ll be able to leave to find Dad, but she’ll have to come back here.”

Sam made a thoughtful noise. “Then she’s stuck here,” he said.

“Better here than home!” Lucifer said cheerfully. When Sam glared, he added, “And I can break it, when it’s time for her to go home. She’s got her own universe, you know.” The thing would snap like a rubber band, tossing her headlong back to where she belonged. Lucifer had planned for this. He wasn’t taking any chances.

“You think she can do it?” Sam asked softly. “Really? Take down God?”

“I think she’ll try,” said Lucifer. “And I think she has a good shot at winning, too.”

“That’s good enough for me,” murmured Chloe, beside him. She stood close enough that their shoulders brushed, and he enjoyed the barely-there touch. 

“What’s she like?” Jack asked abruptly. “My—my grandmother.” He’d been standing by one of the bookshelves for a while, after they’d finished, just watching everyone else. Lucifer eyed him.

“Controlling,” said Lucifer at last, “Overbearing. She loves her children, so there’s that. Doesn’t much care for humans, though. I have no idea what she'll make of you.”

“Doesn’t care for humans?” Sam raised an eyebrow.

“Let me be clearer: doesn’t care _about_ humans. Thinks that you’re like ants or something, and to her you are. Don’t take it personally.” 

Sam huffed as though unsure whether to be amused. He looked over the spell, reading the words and assessing the components. He was a clever one, Sam Winchester. He could read the Enochian and knew enough of the principles of magic to understand what the spell was doing.

“All to your liking?” Lucifer asked him cheekily. 

Sam chuckled. “Looks good to me. You’re not lying – it really should summon an entity called ‘Mother-of-all.’”

“Of course I’m not lying,” Lucifer said, affronted, “I don’t lie.”

“That takes time,” Chloe murmured to Lucifer. “Trust takes time.”

“I like you better than our Lucifer,” Jack said lightly. “You’re much less homicidal.”

Chloe laughed, bright and amused. “I hope so!”

Dean called them for dinner, and they went, chatting lightly about nothing in particular. It felt like the calm before the storm, Lucifer thought, sitting at the table and watched enviously as everyone but Castiel ate burgers. No matter, he told himself. They’d be home soon enough, and he could eat something delicious—such as filet minion, and then Chloe, in that order – and everything would be fine. Mum would take care of this.

She had to.

They even washed the bloody dishes after dinner. Lucifer was ready to jump out of his skin with anticipation—and not in the fun way! —by the time they got round to meandering back to the war room area. Still, the food had noticeably done the humans some good: Chloe was humming next to him, and Dean was even holding Castiel’s hand[4].

Lucifer took his place at the point of the star in the circle. The others stood around him, even Chloe, at various points. Castiel dumped in the snow where it had to go, before taking his place. Sam lit the candle in the middle.

Lucifer took an unnecessary breath. He met Castiel’s eyes and nodded. Neither had wanted the humans chanting for this particular spell, even though it was in English. They had decided on English because it was easy; the words didn’t matter as much as the runes on the ground, so long as they had the right cadence, the right pattern and content. It was all about intent anyway, as all advanced spells were. Most witches picked Latin just to be pretentious. 

“God of many names,” said Castiel, strong and true, and the humans hushed as the spell began.

“Heavenly Mother,” Lucifer said. His voice echoed in the sudden quiet, as the power curled from the runes and into the air around them like smoke from a fire, the begining of a spell, “Goddess of creation, Mother-of-us-all, who made something from nothing—”

“God of many names,” Castiel said again, grave, but his voice echoed, too.

“They called you Juno and Ceres, Rhea and Gaia, Aya and Isis, names as many as there are stars. Here me now and answer my call!”

“God of many names,” said Castiel, again, and Lucifer felt the crackle of power of it. The runes glowed. 

“Born of Nothing, creator of Something, my mother, his mother, the brightest and the biggest of bangs,” here, he winked at Chloe, who rolled her eyes, “I call you from the place I gave you; I call you here; I call you because we have need of you.”

“God of many names,” said Castiel, again.

“Wait—” said Jack, but Lucifer spoke over him, glaring. You couldn’t just interrupt a spell like that!

“We sing for you, Mother, our candles burn for you, come in your splendor; we have feasts for you—” or, at least, Dean had made an extra burger, “We—”

“Lucifer,” hissed Chloe. “Lucifer, stop!”

Lucifer blinked at her, thrown. What?

“God of—” started Castiel again, puzzled, but Dean lunged off his point of the star and shook his arm.

“Yeah, Lucifer, does that look like your Mom?” Dean hissed.

Lucifer looked at the spell. Of course it was his bloody Mother, who else could it be?

In the center of the spell circle something small whispered, almost like smoke. It was the size of a marble. It –hurt somehow. As he watched, it squeezed itself as if through a very small crack in the world and then swirled in a slow, perfect Fibonacci spiral. It was dark and—after he blinked, confused—he realized that it really _did_ hurt, it hurt to look at, even for Lucifer. It was not his Mother.

“What—the Hell?” Lucifer said. He leaned towards it. “I wasn’t calling you. Go away.”

It didn’t make a sound. It was the sort of creature that had existed before there was sound. But it radiated _amusement_ and _hunger a_ nd a deep, sinister greeting.

“What—” said Sam, taking a step back.

“Lucifer?” Chloe asked.

“Go away,” Lucifer said again to the lick of dark smoke. Or—it looked more like shadow given form. Something so dark it sucked in light, and reflected nothing back. Something sick and horrified expanded in his stomach. No, he thought. Impossible.

_thank you for letting me out_

It didn't speak with a voice. It didn't speak without a voice, either. Its words were kind of inverted--not really like words at all. Words were put out into the world, thought given voice; this was somehow the opposite. Like its words took something from the world, instead.

“No—didn’t let you out! Rude! Go back!” Lucifer hissed.

_aren’t you going to ask for my name_

The sick feeling in Lucifer’s stomach only intensified. He was pretty sure he didn’t want to know.

“What’s your name?” Jack asked, sweet and innocent and stupid.

Dark amusement, and that awful, sucking voice replied. _there are many some call me χάος_

Yep. There it was: the bottom dropping out of Lucifer’s stomach. On the other side of the spell, Castiel gasped with horror.

“Impossible,” Lucifer breathed.

Laughter. The sucking darkness got bigger, the spiral expanding.

_you found my book you found my spell did you think i was so easily erased_

There was a horrible cracking, a splintering sound; reality itself.

_now run little archangel_

Chaos. It was Chaos. The Void itself, the Thing That Eats, the Gaping Maw. Lucifer’s heart pounded in his chest, rabbit fast, like a human. There was nothing to do for Chaos, no battle to fight; it was already lost. The only thing to do was _run_. He grabbed Chloe by the hand, and he pulled, hard.

“What?” she spluttered.

“No _time_ , Dean!” Castiel was saying on the other side of the spell circle, also pulling at his human. “You can’t fight Chaos! Go!”

“Come on, come on,” Lucifer gasped, and he pulled her, fast fast fast, to the stables. She looked back once, the smallest bit of resistance, but Lucifer knew Chaos, he knew it, and hesitating meant certain death; he pulled at Chloe with his real strength, and she stumbled forward, breathless. He would feel terrible about that shortly; most important was _getting her out of here right now_. Lucifer was peripherally aware that Castiel was similarly yanking a sputtering Sam and Dean, Jack following at his heels.

They skidded into the stables. “In in in!” Lucifer shouted at Chloe, _shouted_ at her, like he never did, and shoved her into the chariot. She climbed in, elegant in the face of his urgency, and he loved her so much it hurt, so much it trembled in him, because Chaos would devour her if they didn’t run fast and run soon. “SURGAT! Hitch up the cats! Now! _Now!_ ”

He didn’t protest when Castiel shoved Dean and then Sam up into the chariot with them. He had, after all, made him a promise.

“You cast, I’ll carry,” Castiel told Lucifer, urgent. “Jack, get in.”

“Castiel--” Jack said.

“ _NOW,_ JACK!” he shouted. Lucifer had never heard Castiel raise his voice before. Jack scrambled into the chariot.

“I don’t understand,” said Sam, breathless and tense. “Why are you freaking out this much?”

“Because it’s Chaos,” Lucifer blurted. “You don’t fight Chaos. You _can’t_ fight Chaos. You run, before it eats you. _And I say that as an archangel, Dean Winchester_ ,” Lucifer added to Dean, who had opened his mouth angrily, clearly wanting to fight him on that.

“So—what—we’re just _running away_?” sputtered Chloe. “What if it follows us?”

It wouldn’t so much follow them as devour the whole multiverse, universe by universe, Lucifer thought wildly. He didn’t have a good answer for her, so he didn’t say anything. He watched Surgat bring the cats into position and really wished he would bloody hurry up.

“We can’t just leave it there!” cried Sam. “It’s—what is it going to do, left unchecked?”

“It’s going to eat,” said Castiel, and he sounded a little frantic. “It’s going to eat everything, like a tidal wave but worse. Do you need help? Can you go faster?” This he added to Surgat, who was hitching the cats to the chariot now. They were clawing the ground and shifting anxiously, growling.

“Are you kidding?” snapped Dean. “You’re saying this bastard is going to eat everything and we’re _running away_? There’s gotta be a way to kill it, man!” He half-rose, doubtless to charge back in there and do battle with an unstoppable force like some idiot, but Castiel yanked him down, hard. 

“You don’t understand, Dean,” Castiel hissed. “Chaos dogged our footsteps in the Beginning. We have lost entire armies to it. We cannot fight it. You _cannot_ fight it.” When Dean resisted, he pulled harder. “Sit _down_ , Dean. We’ve lost!”

“No,” snarled Dean, fierce as a hunter. He collapsed back down onto the seat though, because Castiel was using his full strength, too. This seemed to shock him.

“Can I—?” started Jack.

“ _Absolutely not!_ ” Castiel cried, wild-eyed. “It will devour you!” He was right. Jack was a Nephilim, it was true, but he was still just an eyas. He was so small, and Chaos was anything but small. Head-to-head, Jack would lose. Head-to-head, everyone lost. Jack was strong, but not seasoned, not clever enough. Chaos had devoured thousands of archangels, experienced warriors and tacticians alike, even Seraphs, and with each creature it ate it got stronger. It was old, and canny, and vicious. Even for Lucifer, the idea of—of watching little Jack get torn apart was—abhorrent—

“Cas, we can’t just—” Dean started.

There was an ominous snap from the door to the stables, interrupting him. Lucifer knew that sound, from long ago, from when he was barely an eyas himself, from the days when he ran about the universe looking for playmates, or people to talk to. He’d only spoken to Chaos on his own once before; all the other times he had only seen legions of angels consumed by it.

This was not a good sound. It was a splintering-reality sound, the sort of sound you heard at your back as you ran for your life, while the great and horrible Thing behind you laughed and laughed. He couldn’t look away; the door to the stables had gone a little gray. Bad gray. Un-real gray. Like its solidity was being leached away. It was like the wall behind an overhead projector, the reality behind the image cracking in two. Another crack, and the doorway, the wall, it just—dissolved, slowly, into a yawning black void.

 _run,_ sang Chaos playfully.

“ _SURGAT_!” Lucifer and Castiel both shouted. One of the cats screamed like a puma.

“Can we paradox it?” Chloe blurted as Surgat leaped into the chariot.

“I’m not trying, I’m not trying, I like my heart intact thank you—” Lucifer babbled, truly, deeply terrified for the first time in eons. A paradox? He remembered their paradoxus interruptus, how strange and off balance he had felt. Imagine if it had been horrible, hungry Chaos tearing into it, instead of innocent interrupting Jack, he thought with a shudder. Chaos would _eat_ a paradox, and them along with it! It was too frightening, too gruesome a concept to attempt[5].

“ _Hah!_ ” shouted Surgat, and the cats lunged forward, at last, at last, straight through the stall door and then through the wall, insubstantial as only a demon chariot could be, and then up and up into the sky.

Castiel made a horrified sound. Lucifer turned.

The bunker. The great penis-building on top of it was just—melting away, collapsing like a balloon into a great, gaping dark void. The void was expanding too, up and out and likely down. Chaos was ever hungry. It just—ate.

“That’s—” breathed Sam, eyes like saucers.

“My baby!” Dean moaned.

Since when did he have a baby?

“Oh my god, Dean,” whispered Sam, eyes fixed on the growing void. “Oh, god—”

 _“Impossible,”_ Castiel was saying in Enochian. _“Impossible. This can’t be—”_

“We’re dead,” Lucifer breathed. “We’re all dead. Chloe, I—”

“You tethered it, didn’t you?” Chloe asked sharply, thinking, always thinking, his wonderful detective. “You planned to tether your Mom to this universe only, unless she went after—you know, Chuck. Did the tether hold?”

“I don’t know,” Lucifer said, still feeling frantic. “I don’t know. Chaos, darling, it's a whole different animal. It just eats, that’s all it does; the tether might slow it down, but I don’t know if it would, would just eat something like that or—”

“Dean,” Jack said softly. “Dean.”

Everyone looked at Jack, abruptly. Jack gulped at the sudden attention. He held out a hand; in it, was a small toy car, an Impala, if Lucifer wasn’t mistaken. “I tried something new,” Jack said. “I thought—I could take her.” He gazed at Dean hopefully.

“I freaking love you,” Dean blurted, and he lunged, hugging the boy tightly around the neck. “Thank you. Thank you.” He took the car with reverence.

“Everything’s in the trunk, too,” Jack said.

“Dude, thank you,” Sam breathed. He ruffled Jack’s hair. “Dean, what about—Jodi, and Claire and Alex and _Eileen_ —” He went a little pale at the last one.

“Claire,” breathed Castiel. His lip wobbled. “Lucifer, please,” he added, desperate.

“How far?” Lucifer demanded. The cats were very fast, after all, far faster than human transport.

“Not far—not far—” Castiel babbled Enochian coordinates.

Away they flew, Surgat hissing to the cats. Around them, the sky darkened and not with clouds. Lightning streaked above; it was too white, too pale, and it left a weird kind of residue. Behind them, Chaos was catching up.

And then that awful sucking mass burst from the ground before them, startling the cats into a screaming frenzy. They got close enough to see a house, and Sam, Dean, and Castiel all cried out when it faded and then sank into Chaos, gone.

All gone, all dead.

“We have to go, or we’re next,” Lucifer blurted.

“One more,” Sam begged him, eyes huge. “Please. One more. Eileen. She’s in Kansas, she’s not far—”

Sam. Sam and his stupid, compelling expression. Damn that affinity. “Where?” 

Sam’s directions were sharp, and Castiel translated them right away, something he generally didn’t do—but Enochian was more precise. Chaos laughing at their backs and sides, closing in, Chloe gripping Lucifer’s hand like a lifeline, they flew to a blank, dark spot on the land. They reached a place that was not a place, a sucked in shadow, a void--it had already been eaten from below. Chaos was not linear, and it ate things in swift patches. Sam’s breath came in a shocked gasp.

There wasn’t time for that. There wasn’t time to feel for that. Lucifer steeled himself. It was time to go.

“Child, can you close holes in reality?” Lucifer demanded, looking at Jack. He’d fetch Door if he had to, he’d bloody kidnap her, but Nephilim were strong and if he didn’t have to—

“Yes,” said Jack.

Thank Someone. “Good. Surgat! Home!” Lucifer snapped a finger: red sparks rose, softly. Castiel caught one and then started singing. There were poorly suppressed tears in his voice, but he sang on valiantly.

Crowley was going to murder him, Lucifer thought faintly. He’d broken his Pigeon.

Also, he’d broken Nightmare World. 

Down they plunged, into Hell, and Hell was already Chaos-touched. Demons screamed and ran amok, and surely even Rowena was devoured, somewhere in the darkness, but Surgat steered them true, back, back, back to the hole that led to the Eighth Circle. They clattered through it at full speed. The Hellhound guarding the door barked and howled an alarm.

Lucifer turned just in time to see Jack closing it behind them. Unlike Door, Jack didn’t even need to touch it. He waved his hand, and the hole closed up, easy as anything. So that was—something.

“Thank you,” he told the boy, a little breathless with relief. “Surgat, to the other!”

Surgat made quick work of it. The Malebolge himself, that Eighth Circle worm, huge as a tower and hideous with his snapping jaws and his legs and his slime, reared up to them, snarling and hungry on their way. Chloe gave a cry, hand over her mouth muffling it.

There was an extra erinacon spine lying at the bottom of the chariot; Lucifer tossed it in the great worm’s face like a javelin. It wasn’t enough to hurt him, really, but enough to send him scurrying away. Bloody worm. Not the time. 

“What!!!” gasped Dean “The Hell!!”

“Malebolge,” said Lucifer tersely. He took Chloe’s other hand away from her mouth and squeezed it comfortingly. “You don’t have one,” he added to Dean. “There!” He dropped one of Chloe’s hands and pointed to the hole. Surgat spiraled them down rapidly. “Close it, child.”

Jack barely even had to blink. Nephilim, Lucifer thought faintly. Nephilim were strong as Hell.

“I’m sorry,” Lucifer told his passengers, feeling numb, “but I have to call my troops.”

“I thought you said you couldn’t fight Chaos,” breathed Sam. He still looked absolutely stunned, eyes wide and unseeing.

“You can’t. But I can send out scouts to look for it, and I can recall everyone to the stronghold in the Sixth Circle. I can have the Viceroys on the lookout. I can have a warning, at least.”

“Do it,” said Dean. He was gripping tight to Castiel’s hand, Castiel who was singing, though he was definitely sounding teary and shell-shocked. Lucifer felt shell-shocked too.

Chloe said nothing. Her hand had migrated back to her mouth, and she gripped Lucifer with the other, beyond freaked out. It hurt his heart. He tried not to think about it.

He had to ready Hell. He _had_ to. He hated being king, but this was—this was a different level of responsibility. 

“Surgat,” Lucifer said. “Ninth Circle.”

“Yes, my king,” said Surgat, and the great cats flapped their wings in perfect harmony as they made their way to Circle Nine.

\--------------------------------

[1] Castiel was actually incredibly reckless for an angel, but when his humans were involved, he liked to add a few sneaky protection runes where they couldn’t see, when he could. Lucifer was just used to doing magic with zero regard for his own wellbeing.

[2] She was starting to get the hang of this! Angels and celestials needed bodies!

[3] It was DEEPLY CREEPY, using erinacon spines to make a body. It looked like a walking skeleton, or like a bunch of weird floating things. Not at all convincing, and not even human shaped, really. But it would do in a pinch.

[4] Adorable, Sam thought, smirking. Absolutely adorable. Thank god they finally figured it out.

[5] Revulsion rose in Castiel’s throat at the thought. A paradox? Against something like Chaos? The very thought made him want to clutch Dean close and whimper, though he did no such thing.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this story turned on a dime, didn't it? BWAHAHA. I loved reading all of your reactions! Anyway, I'm gonna try to get back on track with the weekends and Wednesdays updating almost-schedule, so here, have a chapter :D

Lucifer _trumpeted_ as they flew to his great Palace, a loud, Enochian call to arms. The Ninth Circle was made up of a lake of blue fire, though the lake itself was a lie. It was only about a foot deep all around, that lake. There were pockets of deeper waters, where Lucifer—and other angels, they had Landed in various Circles—had Fallen, back in the day, and gouged craters, but that was it. They had quickly fled to the Sixth Circle then, because there were things living in those flames, and they dearly loved flesh. They were still there, lurking in those shallow, burning waters, waiting and hungry.

Lucifer’s palace, his real palace, was built in stone above the center of the lake. It was all very symbolic: mastery over Hell, making habitable what was uninhabitable blah blah. Everyone had been very smug when they’d built it. The most important part was that you could only reach it by wing, which meant there was a good number of wingless demons who could not physically reach Lucifer to bother him, which was just how he liked it[1].

Surgat landed them in the innermost courtyard, where burn-lilies grew in all their twisted glory. Ionic columns surrounded the little square in a familiar portico. Beyond, there were halls and halls and towers. Lucifer had spent most of eternity in this bloody palace, in his Keep. It was incredibly familiar, and weirdly comforting at the moment, given that he usually despised it. He jumped off the chariot before it even stopped moving and trumpeted again.

Lesser Demons milled around anxiously.

At last, from a long corridor, Belial scrambled to his side. He also lived in this palace; most of Lucifer’s court did. “My king!”

“Where is Azazel?” Lucifer demanded. “I need Azazel!”

“Just here, my king.” Azazel slipped out from behind another column, looking concerned. “What is it? Something’s given you a terrible fright, begging your pardon[2], my king.”

“Belial, tend my humans,” Lucifer said, tilting his head to the chariot. “Keep them safe and together. Not a scratch on them, do you understand?”

“Yes, my king,” said Belial, and he tottered off to the chariot. Lucifer was loath to leave Chloe alone in Hell, but Belial would take care of her. He needed to do this quickly, without the introductions and the politics and Azazel feeling her out and bowing and scraping and all that.

“Azazel, Nightmare World just got devoured by Chaos,” Lucifer said, sharp. It was easy to curb his own dismay in Hell. He had been doing it for centuries, after all.

Azazel drew back, horror in his yellow eyes. “Impossible,” he breathed. “Chaos was sealed away.” Azazel, of course, had watched the futile battles against Chaos, back in the day. A general even then, he had lost legions to the hungry Being. Dad didn’t do much good these days, but it had been a relief when he’d locked the thing away, leaving only the shadowbeasts behind. That was alright. You could kill a shadowbeast, after all. 

“That’s what I said,” Lucifer drawled. He did not add that Chaos’ sudden resurgence was definitely his fault. If he went down that road right now, he wouldn’t come out; he needed his wits about him. This was Hell. Feelings did no good, in Hell.

He suddenly, desperately missed Linda. Linda could help him sort out how he felt about this, besides _bad_.

Focus.

“If Chaos is free, it will—eat away at the walls between worlds,” Azazel said, horrified. “We will be next.”

“Yes. I need my armies scouring every corner of Hell; we must be on the look-out. Do you understand?”

“Yes, my king. But what do we do if we find it?” His eyes had gone wide. Azazel, his most fearsome general, knew when he could not defeat a foe. There was fear in that familiar citrine gaze; Azazel knew that fighting Chaos was a death sentence.

Lucifer didn’t plan to murder his brutal friend by way of a primordial, hungry Being from Before. “We’ll think of something.” He reached out and ran a hand through Azazel’s brassy feathers. “I’ll not sacrifice you.”

Azazel seemed to need to hear that. He leaned into Lucifer’s touch and his reassurance, as he always did, but he still looked worried. “My king, there’s no fighting Chaos,” he said, unsteady. Azazel this shaken was a bad sign indeed. 

“I know,” said Lucifer, still preening him. “I know. Have someone—magical—look into entrapment spells, would you?”

Azazel nodded but he still looked doubtful. “That would have been Asteroth’s wheelhouse, my king.”

“Bloody Raguel,” muttered Lucifer. Losing Asteroth was kind of like losing a very important cog in a large, dysfunctional machine.

“I highly doubt Crowley has the same skill with magic,” Azazel continued, but it was a question.

Crowley barely knew what magic _was_ much less how to use it[3]. “He doesn’t. We’ll think of something.” Lucifer straightened Azazel’s alula feathers.

“And the Viceroys?” Azazel asked, clearly way more freaked out than he was letting on, and he was letting on quite a bit.

“They are to send scouts, too. I want the majority of our demons to shelter in the Sixth Circle, but planning for our civilians is Beelzebub’s job, not yours. Where is Beelzebub, anyway?”

“Visiting with Mammon in the Fourth Circle, my king,” said Azazel. He nudged at Lucifer with one of his hindwings, nervously asking for more preens. He was definitely freaked out, and who could blame him? Lucifer was too, he was just shoving it down and away until later. “Those insect wings make for slow flying.”

Lucifer rolled his eyes. “Very well.” He scratched at some powder-down. “Gather your legions, General. It looks like we’ll need them.”

“Need them to die, you mean,” said Azazel, but there was no heat or rebellion there, only sorrow. Azazel didn’t care about much, but he did care for his soldiers, in his own twisted way.

“Not yet. Not yet,” Lucifer promised, again. “We’ll think of something.” He stepped back.

“As you say, my king.” He stepped back too and stretched his wings, all four of them. “As you say.” He looked like he wanted to believe Lucifer, but just couldn’t manage it. Lucifer kind of felt the same way. He watched Azazel fly off, his wings shining in the light of the blue Ninth Circle flames, and he worried.

It took Beelzebub a while to get to the Ninth Circle. During this time, Lucifer paced up and down his courtyard, snapping out orders to various court members, sending messages to his Viceroys. Once he saw Belial cover his mouth with both his hands, staring wide-eyed at Chloe and the others, as she doubtless told him about Chaos. They were totally screwed.

Finally, Beelzebub made it, all buzzing wings and red, red flames. It touched down in Lucifer’s courtyard, panting. “You called for me, my king?” 

“Yes, this way—” Lucifer pulled his Steward aside and explained everything, about Chaos, about Azazel. Beelzebub had never actually tried to fight Chaos, as Azazel had once upon a time, so it was far, far less frightened. It took his orders – everyone to the Sixth Circle, the most fortified circle, except for Viceroys and Azazel’s armies and the scouts. They needed to assemble the Dark Council and formulate a plan. There were messengers going out to the Vicrorys now. They were so, so incredibly screwed.

Thanks a lot, Dad.

Was Dad even out there? Was Dad still a problem? Or had Chaos eaten Dad, too? The thought was more horrifying than it had any right to be. Who even knew?

It was long hours before Lucifer trudged back to the chariot. “Let’s get you home, shall we?” he asked the humans, soft. “There’s plenty of room in the safehouse for you,” he added to the Winchesters.

“Safehouse?” asked Sam.

“It’s pretty big,” Dean said. He looked haggard and shocked, still, like he was unable to quite process everything that had happened. There was something dangerous brewing in his eyes, though, like once he collected himself, he would be very angry indeed. “Cas and I paradoxed it. God, feels like forever ago.”

Castiel bent down and put his cheek on Dean’s shoulder, tired and sad. He sang on. 

Lucifer climbed into the chariot.

“Everything okay?” Chloe asked him.

“No,” said Lucifer, “Not really.”

“Story of my life,” said Sam, eavesdropping. He looked like he was just barely holding off a nervous breakdown.

Lucifer curled up to Chloe and ordered Surgat to take them home. 

\--------------------------

[1] Mazikeen, however, had her pick of steeds that could cross the great lake. She was particularly fond of Ruin, who was a wyvern that hatched prematurely and was therefore stunted and small enough to ride. Wyverns were not exactly tamable beasts, but Maze had managed to get it to cooperate. It was like riding a tiger: an incredibly bad idea. But it got her across the lake, sure enough. 

[2] This was an understatement. Lucifer was making very loud, very urgent _call to arms!_ sounds, sounds none of them had heard in Hell since Orobas’ rebellion in the Fifth Circle, many years ago. Azazel had been in the dungeon, playing with Bifrons, a Greater Demon who had eaten some children and subsequently caught Azazel’s fancy centuries ago. He’d heard Lucifer’s trumpeting and gone to find him.   
  
Bifrons hissed at Azazel from a tongueless mouth as he left. Bloody, sick Azazel and his bloody, sick predilections. Azazel seemed to be getting bored of Bifrons lately, which was good, because Bifrons was missing his tongue, an eye, a foot and eight flight feathers and was so over this nonsense. Being Azazel’s plaything was terrible.

[3] Not true! Crowley totally knew what magic was and had even worked some spells. He’d done Old Magic in the Hall of Being, long ago. Human magic just kind of creeped him out, was all. Bad things happened when you did magic. Such as: _releasing Chaos onto an unsuspecting multiverse!_


End file.
